Cupid Fired the Shooting Star
by The Goliath Beetle
Summary: Romano 'Lovino' Vargas wants nothing more than to distance himself from his grandfather and his murky illegal business. When a shooting star streaks across the sky, Lovino's friends make wishes. And the next day, a mysterious new student named Antonio turns up in class. So starts a cycle of wishing, fulfillment and a lot of red carnations. College AU Spamano. Two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

Cupid Fired the Shooting Star

* * *

 **A/N: Okay, okay, so** _ **this**_ **. I'm on hiatus but I just** _ **had**_ **to come out of my temporary hole in the ground to write this, because there's a story behind it and I have to tell it to you or I will burst.**

 **On Spinyfruit's birthday, I wrote her a gift-fic called** _ **The Art of Flying**_ **, and there was this anon reviewer who said some lovely things about it (Anon, I hope you're reading this). They also mentioned - and here I paraphrase - "I wonder what would happen if you and Spinyfruit wrote the same prompt."**

 **Then, a few days ago, Spiny asked me if I wanted to try it out.**

 **This is the result.**

 **The prompt we used is identical, and you can read both our fics and decide for yourselves how different or similar our writing styles are. We just felt like we had to conduct this little experiment/game thing. Please check out Spinyfruit's story as well! It's called _Hell's Half Acre_ _._**

 **Our prompt is:** _ **A Spamano fic which includes College AU, a shooting star and running away.**_

 **This is what I wrote. (It was supposed to be a one-shot but it got out of hand!**

 **Also: cover pic does not belong to me. I just edited it.**

 **Michelle - Seychelles**

 **Kabir - India**

* * *

I love and hate red carnations.

Pardon me. I suppose I should start from somewhere logical. Some rational point where you can say, "Yes, this is the beginning," as though life has these well-defined markers. _This is where your story begins, this is where it ends._ It's not like that.

Pick any point in my life and it's exciting. You'd read about my childhood in mafia novels. Maybe. But that isn't what I want to talk about. I want to tell you about my last year in college. I want to tell you about Antonio.

So, I love and hate red carnations.

They pop up everywhere. On my desk. Beside my pillow. In my pocket. In the laundry. At flower stalls. In bouquets. They make me feel loved and important, and so I wait for them to show up. Even after all these years, I'm still watching the carnations.

The carnations always appear after a happy event. Like that time I landed the job I wanted. Or that time I was on a road trip in the middle of nowhere, lost and starving. Out of the foliage emerged - and I kid you not - an Italian restaurant. In the middle of a fucking forest, I swear. And my waiter had a carnation in his breast pocket. Sometimes there'll be a box of chocolates at my doorstep and that damn red flower sitting innocently on top of it, and I'll groan and roll my eyes because there's only one man who'd know I had a chocolate craving that day.

I hate them because I don't need luck or fate or divine intervention to get what I want.

I've worked hard and come this far and I've done it all on my own. I'm not like those other lazy bastards who break fortune cookies or make eyelash wishes.

So, I'm going to tell you about Antonio.

And this is where my story begins.

* * *

Have you ever flipped the bird at the overlord of a criminal empire and lived to tell the tale? I have.

To be fair, my grandfather wasn't so much an _overlord_ as he was a boss, and it wasn't so much _criminal_ as it was shady, and it wasn't so much an _empire_ as it was a business, and yet I grew up rolling in money that wasn't somehow legal.

On my seventeenth birthday, I told him I wanted to go to college and do something useful with myself, something law-abiding, something that would ease my ever-torturous conscience. I hated being related to him and his sins. I told him that I didn't want to learn how to cook up the assets and be the cream of society. I mean, yes, I wanted to be a chef, but not quite like this. I wanted to slog and suffer and work my way up like the rest of humanity, and he just laughed and told me to eat some more birthday cake.

That's when I flipped him off, and he slapped me. It sort of went downhill from there.

Feli was always the peacemaker, but even he couldn't turn down our burning tempers completely. For the rest of the year, things at home were tense and brittle, and it was only when Feli burst into tears over dinner and told us to _stop it or he'd go to the cemetery and tell Mama and Papa about us_ did we decide to settle things down quietly. Nobody wanted to upset Feli, and my Grandfather could be superstitious about appeasing the dead.

Our cooperation still left a lot to be desired. I first looked at cooking schools, but Grandpa called me a fag. I told him to fuck himself, and he slapped me again. It was a lather-rinse-repeat kind of thing where all of us were empty vessels making a shit ton of noise.

I got myself a job at the local pizzeria to save up money, since I had no intentions of letting my grandfather pay my college tuition. I didn't want him to own me in any way. Working there, I learnt that I wasn't meant to be a chef after all, because professional kitchens were hot, stressful, dirty places and I hated being inside one for even a minute.

My dreams drifted for a while and I started looking at schools teaching everything from marketing to fashion design to cryptobiology. I didn't want to do anything at all in business, even though I'd be good at it. I knew that people would use my family name against me and I'd be accused of corruption before I was twenty-five. Law and journalism weren't options for the same reason. I wasn't as much of an artist as Feli was, even though I appreciated fine paintings and sculpture. Fashion designing was a real thought, because apart from the fact that I liked to look good, it would also quite literally _kill_ my grandfather. (The autopsy would say 'Cause of Death: Prada'). But I didn't have the required qualifications to apply.

In the end, I chose history.

I dare you to find a subject more innocuous than history. You can't. See, artists can be radicals with mad ideas, always questioning and fighting the system. Businessmen, journalists and lawyers work within the system: they are its pillars. Fashion designers are usually crazy and somehow deviate from the socially acceptable.

But a historian.

See history, most people think it's boring as fuck. It's just dates and events and war and treaties and shit. And historians are just harmless people who sit in libraries with owlish glasses, poring over ancient manuscripts. Nobody ever expects them to hurt anyone.

But, boy, are they wrong.

Artists can challenge authority. Businessmen, lawyers and journalists _are_ the authority. Fashion designers are outside the realms of authority. And historians? Well, they _create_ the authority. Those harmless nerdy bastards are actually the silent geniuses who control the system. Try rewriting the French Revolution from the perspective of the nobility. The revolutionaries seem like crazy barbarians who behead people. Although _what we're taught_ is that they were fighting against a cruel authoritarian regime. And so all of us now know that monarchies are bad.

See what I mean? History is a weapon. It's a silent weapon.

So I chose history, paid my college tuition and left, promising myself that I would never, ever go back. Not even for the holidays. (I usually spent my summer break with Alfred and Matthew. They never seemed to mind.) Feli was upset, but he understood. I suspected he was now going to talk to grandpa about leaving too. He wanted to be an artist. Hopefully, grandpa wouldn't be as horrible to him as he was to me. He was always softer on Feli anyway.

The only way to get past college-level history is through tears and alcohol, sometimes both. My roommates, Gilbert and Francis, both shameless assholes, had a talent for finding the strongest liquor and challenging anyone and everyone to a drinking game. I usually participated because I hated them and wanted to show them what I was made of.

And that was what they suggested I do that night.

It had been a terrible day. My grandfather had called up to check on me. We'd both hurled abuses at each other. I'd thrown the phone at the wall and cried for a bit. Francis had peeked his head through the dorm room door and asked me what was wrong, and I told him to fuck off and leave me alone, I had a paper on the Romanov family to write. But instead I just read _The Godfather_ again and cried some more, mostly because I hated being born a Vargas, I hated my grandfather, I hated what he did for a living, and I wanted a normal family with a plump huggable mom and a dad who liked sports and a grandfather who accidentally said rude things in front of babies and had to be hushed up and sent to another room.

Once more, I reminded myself that I was never, ever going back. That I would make something of myself one day, and no-one would ever hear my surname and frown for a moment and ask me in a nervous whisper, "You mean you're Romano Vargas...like, from the _Vargases_?"

I was already starting the detachment process. Even though my official name was Romano Vargas, I'd started calling myself Lovino. I never told people my real name, and they never thought to ask (because who lies about their name?), so people just called me Lovino. Except for Francis, because he sometimes called me 'Little Lovi' just to rile me up.

So that night, Gilbert sat on my bunk, snatched my laptop away and said, "Francis told me you've been sitting here moping around all day. We're going out for drinks, you want to come?"

"Fuck off, Gilbert. I need to finish my paper."

He looked at my laptop screen with a raised eyebrow. "I didn't know your Russian Revolution paper involved going on Instagram and following One Direction."

My face burned but I snatched the laptop back. "Shut the fuck up, you don't know what the Russian Revolution is all about."

Gilbert cleared his throat and sang - in a horrible imitation of a One Direction song - "And so we revolted all night against the worst monarchy ever!"

"WILL YOU SHUT UP?" I crossed my arms across my chest and looked away. "Besides, we have class tomorrow."

"Eh, so what? Worry about that tomorrow. Come with us. Better than sitting here crying over Zayn Malik leaving the band."

I turned beetroot at that and didn't dare tell him that Zayn leaving One Direction was a real tragedy. From that smug look on his face, I was pretty sure he already knew what I was thinking. So I snapped my laptop shut with unnecessary force and muttered, "Fine."

Francis just came out of the bathroom at this point, and Gilbert shouted, "Lovino's coming with us!"

"Oh, good. I was so worried about you earlier." Francis was dressed in his clubbing clothes, all skinny jeans and scarf and shit. I suppose he thought he looked sexy or something, but he missed the mark by a mile. It was a real wonder to me how he always got the girls.

So we went out and got drunk. It was pretty okay at first. Fun, even. I flirted a lot. I could have had any of them, but I really wasn't interested in getting laid tonight. I was too wrung out by the day, and I just wanted to drown my sorrows in vodka and forget.

For some reason, I ended up remembering, instead.

"I mean, he treats me like I'm his fucking _pet_ , like I'm always supposed to do what he says." I took a swig of the nearest drink - it was a Long Island Iced Tea and it wasn't even mine, I stole it from some guy - before letting out a choked sob and continuing, "Like, who does he think he is! Thinks he can control everything in his life! What a bastard! I hate being related to him! I can't wait to graduate and turn my life around and forget about him! What a bastard!" And then I remembered all those times my grandfather wiped my tears when I got hurt as a child and told me in his most tender voice that Vargas men don't cry, that he would never let anything bad happen to me, that he loved me and that I was a good boy. And then I let out a loud wail and buried my head into Gilbert's shoulder.

"There, there." He patted my head awkwardly. "I think you should go home."

"No, what are you talking about, it's only like...midnight." I pulled away, too drunk to be mortified that I'd actually cried on Gilbert 'I Am Awesome' Beilschmidt's fucking shoulder.

"Actually, it's ten to midnight, but that doesn't matter."

"And to top it all off," I sobbed suddenly, "I'm a _lightweight_! Oh god, I'll never make my grandfather proud, will I?" and I howled some more, lowering my head to the bar counter. I was only vaguely aware of Gilbert giving the onlookers this pacifying 'he's had a bad day' shrug.

"I thought you didn't want to make him proud."

"I don't. He's a bastard."

"Lovino, I'm taking you home." Gilbert looped one of my arms around his shoulder. He craned his neck searching for Francis, who was busy making out in some corner with some girl, and then looked at me and sighed. "I guess it's just us."

"I hate you," I muttered weakly.

"The feeling's mutual, man."

The night was cold as we made our way slowly down the bushy path. The area could get a little creepy at night, mostly because there was more vegetation than civilisation around here. Apart from the bus stop, some bars and an ill-placed McDonalds, it was just random bushes and trees, with signs pointing the way to the college.

"Gilbert," I whimpered, "I'm not really a lightweight, am I?"

"Considering you just drank through almost the entire inventory of vodka and are still conscious, no, Lovino, you are not a lightweight."

"Thanks," I mumbled, spots entering my vision.

"No problem."

And then he almost dropped me.

I felt his body jerk violently and I almost toppled to the ground because he was supporting my weight, and when I was able to steady myself, I saw Gilbert point to the sky, shouting, "Look! It's a shooting star!" And he closed his eyes as my gaze went to the streak of yellow light that lacerated through the clouds.

Beside me, Gilbert was muttering, "I wish Elizabeta notices me! I wish Elizabeta notices me! I wish Elizabeta notices me!" And then he opened his eyes, looked at me and shouted, "Lovino, make a wish or you'll miss it!"

But I just watched the shooting star roll out of my line of sight and hide behind a copse of trees, and I swear to all that is rational and scientific that I heard something hard and heavy drop to the ground.

"What was that?" and I turned my head towards where I'd heard the noise, the motion disorienting me further.

"What was what?"

"Didn't you hear it?" and I staggered my way towards the copse of trees only a few meters away. Pointing at it, I said, "Something fell from the sky. There."

"Nothing fell, Lovino. You're drunk. Let's get you home. You even missed that shooting star, you idiot. You never see many of those in a lifetime."

But I just ignored Gilbert because I knew. I could even hear the sound of rustling from the undergrowth.

"Lovino, where are you going? Wait -"

I was already at the copse and I took a deep breath and reached into the darkness and -

"AH!"

"FUCK! WHAT HAPPENED!"

And a tabby cat shot out onto the road, scared the living crap out of Gilbert and I as she disappeared into the night. I lost my footing and fell backwards in terror, and though my fall wasn't very hard, the alcohol in my system finally caught up with me and I slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

Have you ever just sort of woken up feeling so horrible, you wonder if you're a trapped soul in a dying body waiting for freedom? If I could, I would have hurled myself off a building just to make the pain stop.

Everything. Hurt.

I was pinned down to the pillows with the weight of my head. Sunlight burst into the room like a loud six-year-old with a nasally voice. The birds outside the window sounded like nails on chalkboard. And my stomach rolled and turned and flipped with the grace of a ballerina. It was the only thing that got me to move. I didn't dare open my mouth, not even to moan in agony, because I didn't trust myself. Not yet.

I half-staggered, half-crawled my way to the bathroom, dropping to my knees in front of the toilet bowl and retching. Each time I thought I was done, a new wave of queasiness would get me and I'd hug the toilet and throw up, tears streaming down my face.

When I was finally, finally done, I managed to stand and wash my mouth. With the motor coordination of someone in zero gravity, I brushed my teeth and splashed some water on my face.

According to my watch, it was eleven. I had class in thirty minutes.

I spent an inordinate amount of time just crossing the length of the room, absently wondering where Gilbert and Francis were. I didn't have the energy to take a shower. I couldn't even be bothered to change my clothes. I just stumbled over to the end of the hallway, where there was a coffee dispenser, eighty cents a cup. I emptied my pockets of all their change and took my coffee back to my room, where I drank it in small sips to keep the nausea away.

Halfway to class, I realised I'd forgotten to carry my laptop. As I was sitting down, I realised my bag was uncomfortably light, and there were no books in it. As I was inwardly screaming in frustration, I discovered a small pencil. It was all the stationery I had today.

Fuck Gilbert and Francis for taking me drinking when they _knew_ we had classes the next day. I hated them.

God, last night was such a blur. Mostly I just remembered being sad. I think I cried. There was a cat.

"You look pretty sick," Matthew noted quietly as I sat down beside him.

"I'm hungover."

"Ah." He twirled a lock of his hair around his finger before tearing out a page from his notebook and handing it to me. "I noticed you don't have your books."

"Thanks." I took it from him without preamble.

"Did you see the shooting star yesterday?"

My head jerked up but I ignored the pain it sent into the back of my eyes. "Oh, right." Of course. There had been a shooting star, too. "I saw it. Gilbert even made a wish."

"I made a wish too," Matthew said with a small grin. He shrugged and continued, "I know it's childish and superstitious, but it's fun, right? Besides, what if it comes true?"

"What did you wish for?"

"It's kind of stupid..."

I would have rolled my eyes if the motion wouldn't have made me sick. Instead I just turned my attention to the front of the class, where Dr. Kirkland had entered.

The absolute last thing I wanted when I was feeling this shitty was for a clipped, pretentious English accent to rant on and on about the War of the Roses. I just could not _deal_ with it. But I had to keep my grades up just to show my grandfather I could, so I took as many notes as I was capable of while only half-listening.

I can't tell you how painful it is for a blessedly quiet classroom (interrupted only by the teacher's voice), is suddenly disturbed by the squeak of footsteps, rough panting, cussing and a loud _BANG_ of the classroom doors opening with brute force and hitting the walls. I stifled an audible groan as everyone looked up, startled.

And there was this guy there. I think the first thing anyone would notice about him would be his coat. It was like a demonic love-child of a trench coat and a tail coat, bright red, with golden buttons that hung undone. Under that he wore a normal white t-shirt and jeans. One hand held onto the door handle as he buckled and panted, the other held a messenger bag.

He wore white sneakers, and I kid you not, if you looked closely (and from where I was sitting, I had a pretty good view), you could see a small but intricate black-and-white star pattern on the heel. His hair was tousled, the exact colour of a chestnut, and his green eyes were bright to the point of sparkly.

"Yes, I made it!" he gasped more to himself than to anyone else. "Only five minutes late."

"Actually," and Dr. Kirkland looked at his watch. His lips were a thin, irritated line. "You're more than fifteen minutes late." After a pause in which he gazed at the boy studiously, he added, "Are you even in my class? I've never seen you before."

"Oh. Sorry." The boy straightened up, looking chastised. He unzipped his bag and pulled out a sheet of paper. Walking up to Dr. Kirkland, he handed it to him, saying, "I'm the new student."

New student? In the middle of the year? All at once, everyone burst into whispers.

"Quiet _down_ ," Dr. Kirkland ordered in vain, furrowing his huge eyebrows. He studied the paper for a moment saying, "Ah, yes, you're Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. Right, I remember now. My name is Dr. Arthur Kirkland. Take a seat."

The new student, Antonio, nodded gratefully before sitting down in the nearest empty bench.

And that was how the whole mess started.

* * *

I know I thought he was shallow and annoying, but I wasn't small enough to deny that there was something _going on_ with Francis. Most days he would irritate the fuck out of me with his penchant for calling me 'Little Lovi' and speaking in a powerful and fake French accent, but there were also those days when he acted just downright...weird. Like some sort of mopey ghost. It freaked me out because I never knew how to react. My first thought would be to say something acerbic - that's just how you deal with Francis - but he'd always look like he'd burst into tears if you weren't gentle with him. And he'd never say why, either.

Let me get clear the air: girls flocked to Francis. But he very rarely flocked to _them._ I mean, sure, he danced and made out with them, but there were very few times I actually remember him leaving with them. And it was on those days - the day following his one-night-stand - that the other Francis would rear his sad little head and neither Gilbert nor I had a clue what to do about it.

Today was one of those days.

My hangover was still killing me when I made my way to the dorm. Our room was pretty decent for four people. Francis and I both slept on the lower bunks of our respective beds, with Gilbert sleeping above Francis. There was no-one sleeping over me, so the three of us used the spare bed to dump random crap like extra pillows or hair dryers or six-packs of beer. It was sort of a mess up there. There was so much stuff that we didn't even dare look anymore. Who knew what we'd discover if we dug through the bedding too deep?

Francis was sitting on his bunk with the blanket over his legs and his knees to his chin, just sort of staring into space. I could see he'd been crying from the redness of his eyes and the pink tint to his skin. He kept sniffling, and didn't even acknowledge me when I entered.

Before, Gilbert had tried to get him to open up and tell us what was bothering him, but he never would. He'd just fake-laugh and say it was nothing. Francis could gossip like a teenage head cheerleader in a bratty high school, but you'll never get him to open up if he didn't want to.

So I just stared at him in alarm for a few seconds, thinking that my head hurt too fucking much for this drama right now. But I still sighed and mumbled a quiet, "Hey," before ambling to my bed and lying down. Francis didn't reply and I didn't expect him to.

It was another fifteen minutes until Gilbert entered, and he noticed Francis right away. "Oh, hey," he stared carefully, "You okay?"

"I'm awesome." Great, now Francis was parroting Gilbert. The world was going to end.

There was some silence for a while, until I heard Francis blow his nose and Gilbert, to distract him, said, "You know, Lovino and I saw a shooting star last night. It was so cool. Did you see it?"

"No, I was busy with Anna."

"That's the name of that girl you were making out with, huh?"

"It could also have been Hannah. I don't remember."

It was right then that the door opened with a profound _BANG_ , and I sat up in bed so suddenly that my eyes very nearly exploded. Gilbert, it seemed, had almost fallen out of his bunk, judging by the way he was clinging onto his bedding and drawing himself deeper into the covers. "Man, what the fuck?" he asked, and I was able to peer through my headache to see professional door-exterminator Antonio Fernandez Carriedo standing there with two huge suitcases, panting for air.

"You did this in class, too," I snapped, and he turned to me with an apologetic smile.

"Sorry." He didn't offer any further explanation, and it slowly dawned on me that shit, he was our fourth roommate. This was confirmed when he said, "I was told that this is going to be my dorm for the rest of the year?"

Gilbert climbed down from his bunk and Francis discreetly wiped his eyes, plastering a smile. The two of them went right up to him with a hand to shake. "I'm Gilbert, this is Francis, and that pile of alcoholic trash there is Lovino."

"Hey, shut the fuck up!"

"And what's your name?" Gilbert asked, ignoring me completely. Antonio, to my deep embarrassment, shot me this sympathetic look before turning to Gilbert and introducing himself.

"Can we call you Toni?" Francis asked him.

"You can call me anything you want!" he said brightly. His eyes turned to me and then to the top bunk, saying, "Is that where I sleep?"

Francis and Gilbert's eyes slowly travelled to the messy bunk. "Er, yeah," Gilbert started slowly. "We're going to have to clean that up."

That afternoon, I discovered a missing textbook, a half-eaten chocolate bar and my lost mobile phone charger among other valuables hidden on the top bunk. Antonio laughed goodnaturedly at the mess before climbing up and settling in under the covers. It was barely three pm. "You guys don't mind if I take a siesta, do you? I find it so hard to stay awake during the day. I'm more of a night-person myself."

"Like we care. Do what you want," I snapped, turning on my side and closing my eyes.

I heard some shuffling and rustling above me, and then I heard Antonio's voice uncomfortably close to my head. He was looking down on me from on high - literally, he'd lowered his head to look at me - and said, "Do you want some aspirin or something? You look kind of down."

I narrowed my eyes and glared at him. "No."

"Don't be offended by him, Toni," Gilbert said in a casual way. "He's nicer when he gets used to you."

"I said shut _up_ , Gilbert."

"See, that's his usual way of showing affection."

"God, you're all bastards." And I stuck my head under the blanket and ignored them for the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

When I came to, it was dark outside. I could hear soft chatting. Francis wasn't there - I assumed he'd stepped out for a smoke - but Gilbert and Antonio were having some sort of involved conversation which I suspected they'd been having for hours.

"- I know it's sort of silly, really. And I don't think that she's out of my league or something, because come on, you know, it's _me_."

Antonio chuckled.

"But I'm not some rich, talented musician or something. Man, I don't know what I'll be doing after college, and this guy she's into, he's already getting offers from, like, the Berlin Philharmonic and shit. It's really unawesome. And I try my usual routines - I mean, this isn't my first time chatting up a girl - and it never works. I want her to take me seriously, instead of just some dumb jock. I don't even play a _sport_ , but she still thinks I'm the dumb jock. You should see the looks she gives me. Like I'm a weirdo. Heh, I guess I look like one."

"This isn't my place, of course, and I barely know you," Antonio's voice, soft and kind, filtered through the air, "But if she can't take you seriously, maybe you should try your luck with someone who does, huh?"

"No, Toni. I'm telling you, Elizabeta's the one. I even had this super embarrassing dream about us getting married." Then Gilbert groaned. "I can't believe I just told you that. I barely know you."

Antonio chuckled again. "It's okay! I can keep a secret! Besides, I think it's cute."

"Whatever. So anyway, how come you just got here in the middle of the year?"

"Hmm," Antonio mused. "I was doing something else, actually, and then I found my calling."

"European History?"

Antonio laughed and didn't reply, which I thought was a bit weird. "What are we doing for dinner? I'm starving."

"There's a kitchen down the hallway. Go make yourself something," Gilbert replied.

"Oh, um," he started and then stopped, chuckling awkwardly. Man, this guy laughed a lot. "I'm a terrible cook. Maybe I'll just find a cafe or something."

I sighed. "If you want pasta, I can help." I was feeling better after the nap. More human. Human enough to even get some studying in before the night was out. Slowly lifting my head from the pillows, I rubbed my eyes and stood, yawning and stretching. I needed a shower, badly, but more importantly, I needed food.

Antonio was looking at me with blank surprise. "Oh, you're awake!" His face split into this easy grin. It was the moment I realised how attractive he actually was. (And then I slapped myself for it, mentally, because _no_ , grandpa would die if he knew I was into men the same way I was into women.) (And then I slapped myself mentally once more, because I didn't care about my grandfather. Let him die.)

"You heard my marriage dream?" Gilbert asked nervously.

I angled my head towards him. For a moment I contemplated blackmail, but I was too tired and hungry. "What marriage dream?"

He seemed pacified by this answer because he let out a little sigh. "Nothing. Go eat your pasta."

I turned my attention back to Antonio, who was looking at me very carefully. "Are you coming or not?" I barked.

"Yes!" He scrambled for his red coat.

"Why are you wearing that? It's just down the hall."

"It's cold!" he complained.

"It's not."

"Is too, Lovino." His powerful arms were tanned. I almost wished he hadn't covered them up, just because the view was nice. He was so muscular, and in all the right places. I considered mentally punishing myself for that thought, but then didn't. I was too hungry to care.

I could feel Antonio's gaze on me whenever I turned my back to him. I was just taking out the stuff for pasta, saying things like, "Concentrate on how I make it so you learn. I'm not going to do this all the time," and, "I hope you like tomatoes, because I'm adding lots of them." He responded affirmatively to me both times, but his stare was sharp enough to burn me. It was like I could feel the heat on my skin like a physical thing. It was weird. I'd never experienced that with a person before.

"So where are you from?" I asked finally, because the silence between us had become awkward.

He sighed as though this was a complicated question like, _do you believe in the String Theory?_ or _What came first, the chicken or the egg?_ before saying, "Spain," like it was the first country that occurred to him off the top of his head.

I raised an eyebrow. He certainly looked Mediterranean enough. "What's it like in Spain?"

"Nice," he answered, sounding slightly uncertain. And before I could question him any further, he went on, "What about you?"

"I was born here, but my family is from Italy."

He gave me this _look_ , as though I'd just told him I speak fluent Swahili. "But 'Lovino' isn't an Italian name."

I just blinked. Well. This was interesting. Nobody had called me out on my name before. "It means 'wine'," I said slowly, studying him the best I could. Antonio still didn't look convinced.

"But it's not a _name_ , is it?"

"My real name is Romano," I supplied quietly, looking away from him and towards the pasta bubbling away on the stove. Why did I just tell him that? I didn't want to, but I couldn't...I couldn't help myself. "You can't let that get around."

Antonio smiled at me and repeated the same words as before. "I can keep a secret, Romano."

"No, call me Lovino. I hate the other name." And glared at the pasta with hostility it didn't deserve. Romano reminded me of my grandfather, Romulus. Romano reminded me of all the things and people I was determined to turn my back on. Romano reminded me that no matter what I did, I was related to a criminal and that would never go away. Every time I stared at my skin, I had to make peace with the fact that I was flesh and blood with the feared Vargases. And God, I hated that. I hated that so much. If there was a way for me to rip myself away from my identity, I would. I'd do it in a heartbeat.

Antonio seemed to understand how serious I was, because his voice was quiet and gentle when he spoke next. "Okay, Lovino."

"Better."

We ate the pasta in silence, and as we were walking back to our dorm, I noticed Francis at the end of the hallway, getting coffee from the dispenser. Antonio turned to me with worried eyes. "Is he all right? He seems really upset."

"I don't have a fucking clue. He gets like this sometimes and never talks about it. He'll be okay tomorrow, hopefully."

"Hmm," Antonio said, and we went back to the dorm without exchanging another word.

The next morning, Antonio made Gilbert's dream come true. And that's not something you can say too many times. About anyone.

* * *

For all his bravado, Gilbert had some self-effacing tendencies. I think he liked to be the Awesome One, but his idea of what was 'awesome' could be a little skewed. He bragged about being able to hold his alcohol, or annoy his brother, or some other dumb shit like that. He'd never tell you what his major was unless you asked him because he was scared people would judge him for being nerdy. He'd never tell you about 'his kids'.

The first time I heard of 'his kids', it was at two in the morning when he was on the phone with his brother. I kept drifting in and out of sleep, worried about a test the next day, when I heard him say, "Hey, Lud, how are my kids?"

I almost gasped, because you think you'd know if your roommate was a baby daddy.

"Oh," Gilbert said after a moment, sounding very sad. "Yeah, he was sick for a while. I'm so sorry. God. Fuck. How are his parents coping?"

This really did confuse me, but the answer was close now. I could feel it.

"Yeah, it's going to be rough for them. And Rosa messaged me saying the chemo is working? Is it, really?"

Wait, wait, wait. What?

"It _is_? Oh! Brilliant!" He had to lower his voice so as to not disturb us, but he kept saying, "Man, I'm so happy. She's such a sweet kid. Did she get my present? I got her this cute teddy bear for her birthday. She did? Did she like it? Oh, yay. That makes me happy." His laugh sounded wet, as though he were crying. "No, no, yeah, I'm fine. Just. Lots of emotions. Fuck. So embarrassing."

Gilbert, you see, was studying oncology. Back when he was in Germany, he'd worked in the children's ward of a hospital and bonded with all the sick kids. He didn't talk about it much, though I think it was because he was shy. He told me when I asked him in the morning, face beet red, voice hesitant.

"Now why don't you brag about _that_?" I'd muttered.

He'd just twiddled his thumbs and replied with, "That's kind of weird, isn't it? I don't do it to brag. I just love helping them. I mean, I wouldn't mind people knowing, obviously not. It makes me proud. But...still...I couldn't really _brag_ about it. You don't _brag_ about things like that."

While it helped me see him in new light, it also reminded me of how little I'd done for the world. I hated myself for a while after that.

Antonio entered class on time today, and didn't slam or throw open any doors. I was so proud of him. He grinned and sat down behind me, tapping my neighbour, Matthew, on the shoulder. "Hey, you're Matt, right?"

Matthew looked nothing short of alarmed, because people usually confused him with his far more popular brother, Alfred. He turned and gave Antonio this blank look, as though Antonio was some sort of alien creature. "Um, yes, I'm Matthew," he said finally. "You're the new guy."

"I'm Antonio." He shook Matthew's limp hand very vigorously. "I heard you're in the Nature Club?"

"Uh," Matthew started. Conversation had never been his strong suit. "Yes. Who told you?"

"I think I saw you in the college newsletter? It was in a group photo?" He looked towards the ceiling as he tried to remember. "Yeah, it was the group photo. I was wondering if I could join. What exactly do you guys do?"

Matthew shrugged. "Nothing, really." Then his shoulders sort of dropped and he turned his back on Antonio, sighing, "Nothing at all."

I was about to ask Matthew about that forlorn look he was wearing, but before I could, Dr. Kirkland entered, looking as exhausted and irritated as ever. So I snapped my mouth shut and turned to my notes, acutely aware of the heat of Antonio's gaze at the back of my neck.

Throughout the lecture, I tried to focus on taking notes and answering questions, but I couldn't help glancing back at Antonio, and he couldn't help glancing at me. It was mortifying in a way. He was still wearing that stupid coat of his and the red colouring kept capturing my attention. (That, and he was attractive and I couldn't help tracing his jawline with my eyes.)

As soon as the bell rang, Antonio shot out of his seat, gathered his things and dashed out of the class, his white sneakers somehow making it look like he was running on air.

"What the fuck is his problem?" I muttered, rolling my eyes.

"What's his major?" Matthew asked. He was looking at me oddly. "He's your roommate, right? Do you know?"

"What are you talking about? He just sat for History of the British Isles! Obviously his major is European History."

"Right." Matthew looked unconvinced, reaching for his mobile phone. "Because Ivan texted me an hour ago about a new kid in his class." He looked up at me now. "Antonio."

"Oh. Okay," I started, unsure of where this was going.

"You know what Ivan's major is, Lovino?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow. "Astrophysics."

I dropped my jaw. " _What_?"

What was a European History major doing in fucking Astrophysics?

* * *

Everyone kind of knows it's a dick move to hit on another dude's crush. Especially if that dude is your roommate. Especially if your roommate is as whipped as Gilbert was. It just wasn't cool.

Not that I knew much of Antonio, but he didn't seem the type to do what he was doing right now. I saw him sitting out on a bench in the lawns with Elizabeta Héderváry, who was laughing along to Antonio's grin. I didn't know why the scene irritated me so much. It wasn't like I actually cared about Gilbert's feelings. At least, I pretended not to. Maybe it was just because Antonio was hot and straight and flirting with a girl, and that could just be frustrating sometimes.

No, it was definitely the Gilbert thing. Antonio could do what he fucking liked. But flirting with Elizabeta was a dick move. He knew perfectly well how Gilbert felt about her. I was going to give him a piece of my mind.

Because. You know. Gilbert was. (NOT) my friend. Sort of. No.

Narrowing my eyes, I stomped over, making sure I crushed as much grass underfoot as possible. Their voices floated towards me, all summery and effortless.

"I love kids!"

"Right?" Antonio asked eagerly. "They're so cute. But they confuse me, too. I don't understand their games sometimes. I really don't know how Gilbert does it!" and he shook his head in wonder.

I stopped.

"Gilbert does what?" Elizabeta asked curiously.

Antonio looked alarmed, as though he'd revealed a big secret, before shaking his head vigorously. "No, never mind. I really shouldn't…"

Elizabeta's laugh was callous. "Don't tell me he has children. That would just be perfect. I mean, I wouldn't even be surprised."

I felt my blood boil a little, but Antonio seemed unfazed. "Oh, don't you know about his hospital kids?"

Fuck.

Elizabeta stopped her cruel laughter and blinked. "What?"

"His...um...patients in the children's ward?" Antonio seemed to shrink under her shocked stare. "Oh, crap, you didn't know that?" He shook his head wildly. "I'm so sorry, I probably shouldn't have mentioned it. I thought you knew, I - crap. Please don't tell him I told you."

Antonio _knew_ about Gilbert's kids? How? When?

"Wait," Elizabeta's hand reached out to stop Antonio as he moved to leave. "What are you talking about? Patients in the children's ward?"

Antonio paled. "Um, I don't - never mind. You should ask him yourself if you're curious. It's not really my place. I'm sorry I even mentioned it!"

I watched, astounded, as Antonio rushed to his feet with his messenger bag and darted back indoors, the tails of his red coat catching the breeze. Elizabeta just stared after him in blatant surprise.

I didn't know how to feel about what I'd just witnessed. Antonio had revealed little-known information about Gilbert to the girl he liked, information that would make anyone change their views on even a shithead like Beilschmidt. And he'd done it flawlessly, telling her just enough to pique her interest.

I knew these techniques, you see. Grandpa used them all the time on people. To entice them. I knew too much about how to manipulate the human mind, and while it bothered me, it also made it easy for me to spot other people doing it.

Later, as I entered my dorm, Antonio was lying on his bed taking a siesta. I wasn't sure if I wanted to talk to him or not. I was just too amazed at what I'd witnessed. Gilbert entered only ten minutes later, and the blush on his face was very obvious. He was pale that way. It was easy to see him go red.

"Guys, Eliza just asked me if I wanted to hang out tomorrow."

Antonio shifted on his bed and jumped down, his feet hitting the floor hard. "Really?" he cried, ecstatic. "That's brilliant. Congratulations, _amigo_!"

Gilbert looked like he was in partial shock, anyway. He turned to me and I just nodded. "Good for you."

"I guess," he said shakily, "That wishes on shooting stars work, huh?"

My eyes went straight to Antonio for some reason, as the Spaniard said, "Yup! They sure do!"

"Man, I need a coffee," Gilbert said in that same half-dazed tone as he stumbled out and left the room.

As the door closed behind Gilbert, Antonio _smiled._ It was a soft smile, meant only and only for himself. As though congratulating himself on a job well done.

"I saw you, you know," I said before I could stop myself. He turned to me, slightly surprised. "Damn decent of you," I muttered, before stuffing my earphones in my ears and turning on my laptop.

"It was nothing," I heard him say underneath the loud music blasting into my ears. He climbed back up to his bunk, and I didn't hear a peep from him for hours.

When I got up to use the restroom, there was a red carnation on Gilbert's pillow, the exact shade of Antonio's coat.

* * *

Feli never called me up past seven p.m, usually. Our conversations were mostly just him babbling on and on about who knows what, and me 'hmm'ing along at the appropriate places. Sometimes he'd tell me about Grandpa's heart condition getting worse and maybe I'd like to come home to see him. That always worried me, because he made it seem like Grandpa was dying, which he wasn't.

I wasn't sure what to feel about him dying. The idea seemed so foreign. The papers would have a field day and I felt like I'd have to give some sort of statement, being the heir to his money or some shit. I'd give it all to charity. I wanted none of that dirty stuff. The police would come poking their noses about. They sort of...knew me. By face, anyway. They didn't bother me as much, because I never actually had a clue what my grandfather was up to most of the time, and because I was a kid. And also, I had never been in trouble and never behaved like an asshole who came from power.

My grandfather had raised me to love my money, so it baffled him that I just didn't. He didn't even like me working, because every time he heard of my various random, jobs, he would see it as an insult to his name. He'd offer me his money. As though I'd ever take it. If I did, he'd own me. He'd have bought me. He'd control me. I couldn't have that.

And yet, there were times when I...missed him…

It was something I hated to admit. Hated to even think about. He wasn't worth wasting time over.

That was why I was momentarily furious at myself when Feliciano called up at three in the morning, sobbing. I was in the middle of a complicated dream involving a parrot fish, a zombie and cans of Diet Coke when the phone pierced through my sleep and woke me up with a start. I scrambled for it just to make it go away, and when I saw Feli's name dancing on the screen, my heart gave an uncomfortable jolt. What if something serious had happened?

"Feli? Why are you calling me up so late?"

Feli was crying, hard. He was coughing and snorting and could barely speak coherently. Francis, who was a light sleeper, turned on his night lamp. That made Gilbert stir, and then Antonio, who slept late anyway. In minutes, all the lights were on and the three of them were looking at me with identical expressions of concern.

And Feli wouldn't stop _crying_. He wouldn't even calm down long enough to tell me what happened.

"Feliciano," I started, trying to keep my voice as level as possible, "Feliciano, _breathe._ Calm down. Listen to me. Are you listening to me? Deep breaths. Shh, stop. _Calmati, fratello, calmati_!" Two minutes into this phone call, just as I was starting to seriously panic, Feliciano managed to speak.

His voice was ragged, like a torn towel. "Roma, oh god, Roma," he wept, "It's Grandpa."

 _Fuck_ , I thought. "W-what about grandpa?"

From the corner of my eyes, I saw Francis mouth, _merde_ , like he already knew something terrible had happened. He moved to stand, reaching out for his backpack. He always kept a packet of tissues around, and I saw him carefully slip a few into his hand to offer to me whenever I started the waterworks.

Antonio had jumped down from his bunk and had taken a seat at the edge of mine. I would have yelled at him for the invasion of privacy if I wasn't so fucking terrified.

"He and I," Feliciano began, as though forming a calm sentence was physically painful for him, "Had an argument. And it was so bad. Roma. Oh God. It was so bad."

"An argument?" I let out a breath of air. On the other end, Feliciano had resumed his tears again. A cold feeling settled in my chest. "Feli, where are you?" _Please be safe home, please be safe home, please, please, please_ -

"In the train."

"Oh God," I choked out. "What are you doing in the train?"

"Coming to your college."

"Oh God," I said again. "Feli, does Grandpa _know_ where you are?"

There was silence at the other end. It was all I needed. Finally, my brother spoke, "He and I fought over dinner. Then he went to bed and I crept out without him knowing." Before I could say any more, he added, sort of frantic, "Please, Romano! I'll explain everything, but I don't have anywhere else to go! Please let me stay the night at yours!"

"Feliciano," I let out a low growl, "I can't just randomly get people into my dorm, it's not allowed."

"But…" Feli started to cry again. "I can't go back. I've almost reached, anyway. I'll take only half an hour to be at your station."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." I ran a hand through my hair. "Fuck. Okay. Shit. I'll call you back. I need five minutes."

"DON'T CALL GRANDPA AND TELL HIM!" Feli almost shrieked on the other end. "If you do, I'll never trust you again!"

Dammit. Fucking shitting hell asshole dammit.

"I won't call him," I promised before cutting the call. My palms were shaking as I lowered my phone, and all three of my roommates were looking at me like the world was ending. "Fuck…" I whispered before letting my head sink into my hands.

"What's going on?" Antonio asked, his voice so gentle that I almost burst into tears. Gilbert and Francis were sitting next to me too now, and it was all I could do to keep the panic away.

"Feliciano. My brother, he - he ran away from home. He's on his way here right now. He needs a place to sleep."

" _Merde_ ," Francis whispered. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know!" I cried, almost pushing Francis but stopping myself in the last second. "Feli, he's so young. Only seventeen, and he looks like he's fourteen! And he behaves like a ten-year-old! He doesn't know what he's doing! And he made me promise not to call our Grandfather, so I don't know what to do!"

"I think the answer is obvious," Antonio ventured slowly. "Go see him. You'll only sort this out if you two get to talk."

I just stared at Antonio and his tender smile and his stupid tousled hair and his annoying green eyes and I had this fierce urge for someone to hug me. I said nothing, though, and averted my gaze to mull over his words. "I don't have a choice, do I?"

"What about curfew?" Gilbert asked. "You can't step out now anyway. And I don't recommend going alone. This place gets weird at night. You might get mugged."

"I don't mind going with him," Antonio said before anyone could even react. "As for curfew -"

"We can't tell them the truth because they'll call the police or some shit. Feli will be traumatised." I shook my head vehemently. "There has to be some way to sneak out of here unseen."

"I wish there was," Francis mumbled. "But I doubt it."

I swear Antonio's eyes hardened. Something about him changed. Like there was a spark of electricity inside him. "There is a way," he stated like he knew the secrets of the universe.

"What are you doing?" Gilbert questioned as Antonio bolted up and threw the window open. He peered out. "It's not very high up. Gil, Francis, Lovi, strip the sheets off the beds."

I would have snarled at the nickname had the circumstances been any different, but all I could muster was a simple, "Wha -"

Francis and Gilbert didn't even bother questioning him. "Excellent idea, Toni," Francis even said as they yanked their bedsheets and blankets off their beds and started tying them at the ends.

"You've got to be kidding me!" I cried, incredulous.

Antonio just tilted his head and frowned at me. "Do you want to help your brother or not?"

"Of course I do!"

"Then come on!" and he bounded to his own bed to pull the sheets off. Francis, Antonio and Gilbert made a great team. They barely needed words to communicate as they worked swiftly, their deft fingers tying firm knots at the end of the sheets. I just stared in silence for a few seconds. And then I jumped out of bed, ripped out my covers and threw them towards Antonio.

"Do these too," I barked. "I need to call Feli."

Feli wasn't crying anymore, but his voice was thick and nasally. "Romano?" he whimpered.

"Yeah, I'm on my way. When you reach the station, _wait for me._ Don't go _anywhere_ , do you understand?"

"I understand," he replied. "You haven't called Grandpa, have you?"

"What do you take me for? Some sort of dirty snitch?"

Feli's laugh was soft and exhausted. "I love you, Roma."

I swallowed. "Y-yeah. C-call me Lovino, remember? See you soon."

"Lovino," Antonio said sharply, making me turn to face him. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"I -" My mouth closed of its own accord as I clicked the _end call_ button on my phone.

"You should go, Antonio," Francis declared simply. "It's not safe alone."

I didn't argue. I couldn't face this on my own, anyway.

I watched as Francis and Gilbert lowered the makeshift rope out of the window.

"Let me go first," Antonio said. "To test if it's safe."

"And what if you fall?" I asked.

"I don't have a runaway brother who needs me immediately," he replied smoothly before lowering his body out of the window and slowly climbing down. I was too scared for Feli to be scared for myself as I watched Antonio land safely. It was my turn next.

Gilbert stopped me just as I put one foot out of the window. He pressed something into my palm. "My bike's parked in the lot. Take it."

"Thanks," I said gruffly, meaning it. Stuffing the keys into the pocket of my pyjamas, I lowered myself down the bedsheets and began climbing down.

* * *

The night air was so chilly I had water streaming from my eyes as I drove Gilbert's bike about a hundred times faster than I should have. Antonio held on for dear life, the tails of his stupid red coat - _I couldn't believe he remembered to wear that -_ flapping away to glory.

"You okay back there?" I shouted over the wind.

He made a noise that sounded like a little squeak and I took that as a yes. I was too worried about Feli to really care about Antonio right now anyway.

The station was pretty empty, but open. Frankly, I was a little surprised there were trains running at this time, but I wasn't about to question it too much. Antonio was a little pale and shaky as he got off the bike. He had to lean against the wall because his legs wouldn't stop trembling, but followed me dutifully as I barged into the station.

"Feli?" I asked as I put my phone to my ear.

"Roma - Lovino! Have you reached?" Feli wasn't entirely approving of the fact that I was going by another name, but he'd agreed ages ago not to sell me out. I appreciated that he remembered to stick with it now, even though he was probably terrified, and was on a private phone call with me. He did forget sometimes - like before - but I couldn't really fault him that. I'd been 'Romano' for all his life.

"Yeah. Have you?"

"Yes! I'll be right out!"

Those few minutes of waiting in front of the platform for my brother to show up was pure agony. I was still in shock about what was happening, halfway to convincing myself that this was a crazy dream, and yet, as Feli's rust-hued hair emerged from the platform, reality crushed down on my and I almost screamed out loud.

No, Lovino. No. Focus. Calm.

"LOVI!" Feli cried, tearing towards me and throwing himself against me so hard that I lost my balance and fell. Antonio jumped back and had to help us up. (His hand was so warm, so safe - _stop it Lovino stop it stop it and focus on the fucking situation_.)

"Feli, hey," I kissed the top of his head. "Are you all right? What the fuck is going on?" He even had his school backpack with him. What was in that? How long did he think he'd be staying for?

"I'll tell you," he said breathlessly. "I'll tell you."

"Let's find someplace private to sit," Antonio suggested.

Okay. But where?

Antonio found us a bench at the station itself. The whole place was empty anyway, so Feli just sat between Antonio and I, and when that red-coated fool offered to give us some privacy, Feli said, "No, it's okay. I don't know your name, by the way," all without pausing for the context to change.

"It's Antonio," he said.

"Oh, are you Lovi's friend?"

"Roommate," I replied before Antonio could, and the idiot just grinned at me. How wasn't he offended at how short I'd been?

Feli lowered his eyes after that short interrogation, sniffled and said, "Lovi, thanks so much for this."

"What happened?" I pressed.

"Dinner," he muttered, utterly morose. "Grandpa was in a good mood so I told him I wanted to go to art school."

I winced. Yep. Grandpa flipped out. I was afraid of this. "He was _so mad_ , Lovi," Feli whispered, soft tears running down his cheeks. "And I mentioned how you got to do what you wanted -"

" _Feli_!" I cried in exasperation. "He hates me for that!"

"Yeah, that didn't strike me at the time! I was emotional!" He wiped his eyes and went on, "He was screaming and telling me not to be like you. In his words 'your faggot older brother' -"

"Bastard."

"Yeah, and I told him to shut his face because that's a terrible thing to say to anyone, lot less your own grandson! And it really doesn't matter what you study or what your sexuality is because it has nothing to do with anything! And he got even more mad and told me I was a weakling and then he shouted some really mean things." Feli reached for his backpack and took out his sketchbook. "I tried to show him my drawings, make him see how good I was! And he just threw the curry spoon at it!"

Feli flipped it open to a page where a large orange mark had ruined a perfectly good still-life. Antonio let out a long, sad sigh. "May I see?" he asked Feli, who nodded wordlessly.

Antonio flipped through the pages carefully, and Feli kept talking.

"So anyway, he said he was going to go to bed and if I had any sense I'd stop talking about stupid art stuff. And I was so upset. So I packed my things and...well, here I am!"

"He's going to be worried sick about you when he finds out." But could I really blame my brother? It was a stupid, irrational decision, yes. But Feli was seventeen. And he was feeling betrayed. Grandpa doted on Feli like he never did with me, so Feli adored him. I pressed the bridge of my nose. "Okay, here's what we'll do."

"Yes?"

"You can spend the night with us, but you're going to text Grandpa your whereabouts before you go to sleep."

"But -"

"No, shut up." I held up a finger to silence him. "I'm older so you'll listen to me. If Grandpa finds you missing, he's going to freak out and call his _friends_ to look for you."

Feli swallowed, because Grandpa's _friends_ could beat the living shit out of anyone. Grandpa trusted them, which really sucked because they didn't particularly like me. Or Feli, for that matter. And even though they wouldn't _dare_ hurt us, there was nothing stopping them from hurting anyone who got in their way. I could imagine them beating up Gilbert and Francis and Antonio to get to Feli and I.

"So he needs to know you're okay," I went on. "And tomorrow, you're going to go back -"

"Lovi, no!" Feli cried. "He'll be furious!"

"He's going to be furious either way. Trust me, it's better if you go back home. Besides, I can't really keep you in my dorm like some kind of stowaway. You don't even know how we got out of there tonight."

"It involved bedsheets," Antonio helpfully said, watching Feli's eyes widen.

"That's also how we're going to get back in," I muttered. "So you better prepare yourself for that."

Feliciano groaned and buried his head in his hands. "I wish Grandpa actually appreciated my art."

I swear to fuck I caught Antonio _smile._ He seemed to be alive and crackling with lightning again. It was in his eyes. This _look._ This mad, determined glint. It was so weird.

"Let's get you to the dorm," I said slowly, speaking to Feli but looking only at Antonio.

"Mmh, yeah," Antonio agreed, standing up and closing Feli's sketchbook. "It's really late. I think everyone can use some sleep after this."

Feli was more confident on the bike than Antonio was, which actually amused me because Antonio sort of came off as a cool, in-control guy. I found it funny that my childish brother was really the tougher of the two. Or maybe he was just used to me driving.

I texted Gilbert to send the bedsheet down the window, which he did. Feli clambered up first. He was lithe, which surprised me. Antonio let out a soft exhale as we watched him go up to the dorm.

"Your brother is a really good artist."

"Yeah." I shifted my weight from one foot to another. "I know."

"Does it bother you?"

Astute fucking bastard.

I angled my head towards him, and Antonio was looking at me with this knowing smile. "I'm happy he's passionate about something," I replied delicately.

"That may be, but it still bothers you."

I chewed my lower lip. "So what if it does? You heard what Feli said, right? My grandfather calls me names. It's always been like that at home. The favouritism. So. It's always bugged me if Feli can do something I can't. And he can. He's much more gifted." I stopped biting my lip because it was starting to hurt. "It doesn't matter. Whatever." What was it about Antonio that made me blurt out personal information?

"I'm sorry," Antonio said, and he sounded really sad, too.

"Don't be. I don't want your pity. I've worked my ass off to get here and I'm never going back." I kept my gaze on Antonio, because he had to understand how serious I was about this, too.

"Okay," he merely said. He didn't try to wrangle anything else out of me, although I couldn't keep my mouth shut.

"Thank you for coming along," I muttered. "You didn't have to."

"Oh!" Antonio just laughed. "Don't worry about it!" His eyes went back to Feli, who'd climbed over the window safely. "Right, your turn, Lovi!"

"Don't call me Lovi."

"Aww, why not? It's so cute."

"Idiot." My cheeks were burning now. Great. Thank you, Antonio, you jerk bastard.

There was just enough room on my bed for Feli and I to sleep in if we cuddled up really close. I hadn't done this since he was a kid. And though all the lights were turned off and everyone was safe and asleep, I just stayed up, my eyes wide open. I could hear Feli snoring beside me.

"Gil," I heard Francis whisper, and I angled my head towards them just because I was nosy that way. "You awake?"

"Yeah. Sup?"

"Can I tell you something strange?"

"Always."

"I found a red carnation in my pocket after Toni and Little Lovi went to get his brother."

"Huh. Weird. I found one on my pillow."

"Weird indeed."

"Nice flower, though."

" _Oui._ Anyway, that's basically it. Good night."

"That's it? You don't want to talk about it some more?"

"Sleepy."

Gilbert chuckled softly."Yeah. Good night."

Fucking Antonio.

This had something to do with him. I knew it did. Perhaps I'd been watching him too closely, but it made sense, in a terribly confusing, utterly senseless way.

As I was drifting off to sleep, I heard some light shuffling from Antonio's bunk. Maybe I was already halfway unconscious, though, because I wasn't entirely aware of him leaving the room. Not until he came back just before dawn, and I caught his silhouette climb back to his bed. From the glow of the hallway light as he opened the door, it seemed like he hadn't had any sleep at all.

When I woke up next, it was eight a.m and there was a red carnation poking out of Feli's backpack.

I would have confronted Antonio then and there, but I was too intrigued. So I kept watching.

* * *

Feli tackled me in a huge hug the second I woke up properly. "Grandpa just called me and told me I could go study art!"

"What?" I squawked. But I wasn't all that surprised, because Feli had always been the favourite. And after last night's stunt, maybe Grandpa had come around. Then again, my grandfather was a control freak. I felt like it would have taken a lot more to change his mind.

In that second, Antonio burst out of the toilet (throwing the door against the wall as he did), with his coat only half-worn and his hair a mess. "I'm late, I'm late, I'm late!" he chanted, zooming straight for his bag and wearing his white sneakers somehow at the same time.

"For what? Our next class isn't until ten. It's only eight now!"

"For Math and Stats with Ivan!" he cried before taking long strides across the room and throwing the room door open with another _bang._

"You're going to break those doors one of these days," I muttered. "And I thought you were in European History!"

"I am!" he told me as he flew out of the dorm and down the hallway, slamming the door shut behind him. I just buried my head in my hands. Feliciano giggled.

"He's funny. Do you like him?"

"Shut up. No." I looked up instinctively to make sure Gilbert and Francis weren't anywhere in sight. They weren't, of course. Both of them had classes in the morning. Feli was just giving me this knowing smirk that made my cheeks burn some more. My brother was perceptive and it infuriated me. I didn't _like_ Antonio. I barely knew the guy. It's just. I mean. He just. Was hot.

It was easy to sneak Feli out of the dorm and get him onto the train. Nobody even noticed as long as Feli acted like he belonged there.

Later, as I was walking to class, Feliciano sent me a text from the train.

 _Feli: Thanks for the flower, Romano! It's so cute! I just found it! It made me happy!_

 **Me: Flower?**

 **Me: Was it a red carnation?**

 _Feli: I think so! Where did you even find one?_

 **Me: Magic.**

I lowered my phone just in time to catch Antonio walking down the hallway with Ivan, chatting excitedly. I frowned, my feet acting on their own. I was marching towards him, catching snippets of his conversation.

" - don't have to worry, we can sit in the library tonight! It'll be easy! We'll ace this test, you'll see!"

"Thanks, Toni. You're so nice. You don't really have to, you know!"

"I want to!"

"Bastard," I called as I approached, and both of them stopped to stare at me. Antonio was blinking, looking confused and alarmed, and I wasn't sure what I was going to do now that I had his attention. I almost faltered. Who wouldn't, looking at those soft green eyes suddenly cloud over with fear? "You," I started, trying to sound cold. Ugh, fuck. Fuck. I couldn't be mad even if I tried. I was _grateful_ to him. "I don't know what the hell you did or how you managed it," I started, forcing my voice to a low growl, "And frankly I don't want to know, but -" I stopped, all steam dissipating. I could only picture Feliciano's cheerful laugh this morning. "I don't know how you managed to convince my grandfather about Feli, but _thanks_." I spat the word like an insult and marched off, ears furiously red.

Behind me, I heard Ivan ask, "What was that about?"

"Er…" Antonio said and started to nervously laugh, "I - I'm not sure. Um. Yeah. Anyway."

Not sure? Yeah, right.

I wasn't aware of the precise moment when I started believing in the supernatural, but ever since Antonio had showed up, I was putting more and more faith in the unexplained. It worried me. It thrilled me. I was going mad.

Later, in class, Matthew turned around and handed Antonio something covered in plastic wrapping.

"What's that?" I asked.

"His Nature Club badge," Matthew explained as Antonio let out a small cry of happiness and ripped off the plastic. "He became a member." To Antonio, he said dryly, "Welcome to the Nature Club, where everything's made up and the environment doesn't matter."

"Is that a _Whose Line Is It Anyway?_ reference?" Antonio asked with a laugh. "Thanks, Matthew." Pinning the badge onto his shirt (never his coat, which he still wore absolutely everywhere), he added, "So, what's the agenda for the club? When are the meetings?"

"No agenda. No meetings. We just pretend to look busy." Matthew frowned, huffed, and turned around to put his head on the table and sulk. Antonio shot me a questioning glance and I just shrugged.

"What about that polar bear?" Antonio asked, his voice cautious. "In the zoo? Kumajiro, right?"

Matthew's head shot up so suddenly I think he almost gave himself a whiplash. Turning, he placed a very serious stare on Antonio. "What do you know about Kuma?"

"Well," Antonio started, "I know that the zoo doesn't take care of him. That he should be sent back to the wild. Or at least to a better zoo. Also, someone - I believe it was Michelle? - told me you had campaigned to try and save that bear, but nobody helped you out."

I stared at Matthew as Antonio spoke, watching his expression change from flat to irritated to despairing.

"Nobody cares about Kumajiro," Matthew muttered. "He's going to die in that zoo."

"We've got to do something!" Antonio insisted.

"Yeah, well, do you have any ideas?" Crossing his arms, Matthew snapped, "I don't believe in superstitions, but I even wished on that shooting star that went by the other night. I wished that Kuma could be saved, but I don't think it's possible."

"Can I just say something?" Antonio put a hand on Matthew's shoulder, "I think it's big of you to use a shooting star wish for a polar bear. I mean, how often do you see a shooting star, really? It's so selfless, what you did. And those wishes do come true!" He laughed adding, "I'm a little superstitious, anyway. I believe in them. We'll definitely think of something."

Matthew's face had become decidedly red by the end of Antonio's little speech, and he looked away. "We need to raise awareness so the authorities notice the issue," Matthew explained. "Nobody in the Nature Club wants to take the effort."

"Raise awareness?" I asked, my eyes going up to the ceiling in thought. "How about a social media campaign of some sort?"

Antonio let out an excited squeal. "Oh, yes! Lovi, that's perfect! How about we make a video and get it viral?"

Matthew and I just turned to look at the idiot, who was practically jumping in his seat. "Oh yes," Antonio kept chanting, "This could work. Oh yes, oh yes, indeed."

It was at this point that Dr. Kirkland walked into class, looking like he hadn't slept in a week. "I hope you've all finished your essays," he said, blinking tiredly.

"He looks like he could use some rest," I commented softly.

"Yeah," Matthew agreed.

Antonio said nothing, but his gaze was fixed on Dr. Kirkland, his expression focused and calculating.

* * *

I don't know how I got roped into saving Kumajiro the polar bear, but I somehow did. After class, Antonio, Matthew and I went straight to the performing arts wing. Antonio had some genius idea he wouldn't share, but he kept giggling excitedly to the point where even Matthew was starting to grin. (I, unfortunately, smiled as well. It was such a disaster.)

We found Kabir, who was known for his dancing and choreographed these elaborate, over-the-top coordinated dances. His grin was the same as Antonio's by the time he'd heard the whole plan.

"You want to stage a flash mob in the zoo?" he repeated, probably just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating the whole conversation. "To save this bear?"

"Yes," Antonio pressed. "And it's really important that we do this quickly, because Kuma is sick." He glanced at Matthew for confirmation.

Matthew nodded, sobering. "They don't feed him properly, his pen is never cleaned, his vet visits are irregular...It's horrible."

Kabir put a hand on his chin and nodded in understanding. "Yeah, I'd love to help out. But you know what would be amazing? Get Kiku Honda on board. The guy is a genius with animation. He's in first year. Also, get his brother Yao, too. Yao can edit videos really well. The two of them can make this super catchy with some amazing effects. Plus, they'll know how to make it viral."

"That's an excellent idea. I'll talk to them!" Matthew cried. "I'll even ask my brother Alfred if he wants to help out. He loves being a hero so he'll probably volunteer to save Kuma."

"Great. I'll pick out some good music."

"You do that," Matthew agreed. "And your best dancers. Keep me informed. Take my number."

As the two of them talked, I noticed Antonio casually slip his hands into his coat pockets and slouch, smiling to himself in this self-satisfied way.

"We've got History of Political Ideologies in ten minutes," I reminded him.

"I remember," Antonio said easily. "That's Dr. Kirkland's class too, isn't it?"

"No, Dr. Arlovskaya's."

"Oh." He seemed disappointed. "When's the next class with Kirkland?"

"Tomorrow morning. Eight a.m."

"Ah," Antonio said softly. "Right, of course."

* * *

Antonio was gone before I woke up the next morning. I don't think he got any sleep last night either, because he was in the library with Ivan until midnight, then he got back and worked on an assignment for History. I was awake too, typing away, but I turned in around two a.m but I knew Antonio was still working. I could hear his laptop.

Gilbert was getting date advice from Francis, who was infinitely better at romance anyway. He was taking Elizabeta to the movies tonight, and was blushing like a thirteen-year-old about it.

Later, as everyone filed in for class, Matthew sat down beside me and started chatting a hundred words a minute about how they were going to save Kuma the bear, with or without the rest of the Nature Club. He told me about all the songs Kabir had short-listed for the flash mob, and how Antonio had secured permission to film it in the zoo. ("How the fuck did he manage that?" "No idea, but it worked!"). Antonio wasn't even here yet.

Yet.

"I'm late, I'm late, I'm late -" we heard someone cry just as Dr. Kirkland rounded the corner to enter the classroom. There was a flash of red, a great yell and a loud _crack._ As the dust cleared, my fingers went cold at the prone, unconscious form of Dr. Kirkland and the soft, agonised moan from the floor as Antonio tried to sit up.

* * *

They had to call a fucking ambulance for Kirkland because he had all the symptoms of a concussion. Antonio was conscious but unsteady, and insisted he was fine the whole way.

"I'm so sorry, Dr. Kirkland, I'm so sorry, I didn't see you -"

We were in a hospital room with Dr. Kirkland on the bed. He was awake now, his skin grey and his eyes a little unfocused. "Don't run in the corridors…" he mumbled sleepily.

"Sorry, I won't! I promise!"

"Ughh, keep your voice down…"

"Yes, sorry," Antonio said in a hush.

"How long are you going to be out of commission?" I asked, taking a step closer to the bed.

"Urgh…" Kirkland groaned as though thinking about it physically hurt him. "I think they said a week? A week of proper rest…? I think so...but it's good because I needed the sleep...I mean I saw that shooting star the other night and I wished for some time off...kind of stupid, now that you think about it."

"You believe in shooting star wishes?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Vargas, if you're as overworked as me, you'd believe in the Yeti if it meant you'd get some sleep."

"Oh, Yetis are real," Antonio said. He tried to nod, but that made him actually sway on his feet so he reached out to the wall to steady himself. "They're real. I've seen one. His name was Brrrf." He paused and added, "Although, that might have just been him shivering. The Himalayas are cold."

I shot Antonio a sidelong glance. "Yeah, I think you need to see a doctor too."

"No, no, I'm fine." He laughed, winced, and swayed a little. "I'm fine. I just need to lie down."

"Lovino, take him back," Kirkland mumbled. "I need some rest myself. And he looks about ready to faint."

"I'm not going to -"

I reached out to grab Antonio's arm. "Shut up. Come on."

"Wait." Antonio placed a red carnation at Dr. Kirkland's bedside table. (Where did he even produce one from? It seemed to come out of nowhere.) "I'm sorry, Dr. Kirkland. Feel better, okay?"

* * *

"Ow, ow, ow -"

"Lie down, don't talk, don't move. And wait here."

Antonio tried to climb onto his bunk and the second he got onto the first rung, his body seemed to give up on him and he staggered and lost his grip.

"Fuck!" I cried, running forward to steady him.

"I'm fine, really -"

I just couldn't help my glare. "I guess there's no choice." I couldn't believe I was directing him to my bunk instead. No, no, this was too fucking much. How could I even pretend to be my angry, irritable self if he was going to lie in my bed and be all helpless and cute?

 _Ugh, attractive fucking bastard._

"You really don't have to worry," Antonio kept insisting as I forced him to lie down with his head on my pillow. "I'll be fine. I heal quickly."

"Stay. Put." And I turned on my heels and marched out of the dorm. I returned from the kitchen with an ice pack for that bump on his head. "Here." I blushed as I handed it to him, because fuck if I was going to place it on his head myself. Antonio let out a small laugh before taking it from me.

"Thank you, Lovi." He closed his eyes and let out a long sigh as he placed it on his forehead. "That feels good. Thanks."

I looked away and crossed my arms, sitting at the edge of the bed. "Whatever." I could hear my heartbeat in my chest, and I had to take slow, deep breaths to stop the roaring inside my head. It really wasn't fair - I hadn't hit my skull against the tile floor. Why did I have to suffer this?

"I still think you should get yourself checked out by a doctor. This looks like a mild concussion, you know?"

"I'll be fine," Antonio said in an airy way, sounding completely healthy despite the fact that he winced as he raised his head. "I told you, I heal quickly."

I angled my head slightly. "What's with you and red carnations?"

"Hmm?" And his gaze went to the opposite wall, like he was purposefully trying to avoid the question.

"You heard me," I accused coolly.

"They're my favourite flower."

"They've been popping up _everywhere_. You're leaving them there, aren't you?"

Antonio let out a tiny laugh. "Are you sure _you_ haven't hit your head, Lovi? You're not making sense." I just glared, so his chuckle trailed away. "You're always watching, aren't you?"

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Antonio tried to sit up, and before I could stop him, he let out a little cry and fell into the pillows again, hissing, cussing and groaning. He curled in on himself slightly. "Ugghhh, that hurts…"

"You need to see a doctor."

"I'm okay, I just need to rest."

"Yeah. Right."

"It's true." He settled down, though, blinking lazily upwards. "I noticed your eyes. First thing I noticed about you. They're so pretty."

For a moment there, I had no idea what the fuck I was supposed to say to that. My body reacted before I did, and I was sweating, blushing, stammering and internally cussing, all at once. My hands started to tremble, my toes went cold, and all I could think was, _Oh my god, he's lost his mind._

One look at Antonio and it did actually seem like he was a little high. "They're so golden...like...when a meteorite breaks through the atmosphere of the earth and goes aflame…"

"Like what?"

"Mmh. Hurts like hell. But it's okay. I can take anything."

I raised an eyebrow. "Are you high?"

"Your eyes are my drug," he said so seriously I just stared.

And then I started to laugh. "That -" I spluttered, clutching my sides, "That's lame even by Francis's standards! My eyes are your - w-what are you doing?" He was sitting up again, slower and with more care, as one of his hands reached out for mine.

"You're always watching me. I notice." His voice was a little breathy. I just died a million times inside my brain. "Your pretty, pretty golden eyes like shooting stars that soar through space and fall right into mine."

"Y-you're spouting nonsense again." And now his nose was almost touching mine. Both his hands had found held my own, and if one of us didn't kiss the other, I was going to have a heart attack, pure and simple.

I kissed him before he delayed the moment any longer. One more second, and I'd have lost my nerve. Antonio's lips were hot. But not the sickly, fever-hot. They were like summer days or fireplaces. And God, they were practiced.

He had me moaning and panting and -

"I just heard about Kirk- _ooh la la_!"

We leapt apart like lightning, with Francis standing at the door with his eyes wide and his smirk growing larger and larger. Fuck. Fuck. If it was Gilbert, he'd just laugh and tease us a while before getting bored. Francis was an absolute _nightmare_ , because he'd give you freaking sex advice. And you'd take it, too. You know why? Because it was usually brilliant advice.

"I knew Lovino was bisexual but this is a nice surprise!" Francis sauntered in, going over to his bunk to grab his wallet.

"I'm pansexual," Antonio explained, slightly breathless. As an afterthought, he added, "My head hurts."

"I'm just leaving!" Francis sing-songed. "Please, continue like I was never there!" He let out this weird laugh of his - " _Hon hon hon_!" - before stepping out and shutting the door behind him.

I turned to Antonio. "That was -"

"Lovi," he said slowly, and he lowered his head to his knees. "I think I'll have that doctor now."

"Fuck. Okay, hold on." I stood, straightening my shirt just to avoid mild panic. "Are you all right? Tell me what's happening."

"I usually heal quickly," he said, his voice pained. "Pretty sure the kissing interfered with that."

"Now it's _my_ fault?"

"But...your eyes are so pretty, like spaceships!"

"Oh, shut up."

Right on cue, Antonio passed out.

* * *

 **A/N: "Your eyes are like spaceships" is a full-proof line. I promise. You should try it on someone. Bonus points if you show them pictures of the Death Star from Star Wars as you say it.**

 **Anyway, there is one more chapter after this :D**

 **What do you think? XD I was really, really excited about the idea initially, but as it happens, I got too distracted by the AU and the plot, so it's not as romantic as some of you would like… And therefore, I'm a little nervous! :P**

 **But I hope you enjoyed it. Let me know how different/similar you think this story is to what Spinyfruit wrote ( _Hell's Half Acre_ )! That's the point of this game we're playing :D**

 **There's a fic I'm co-writing with Immortal x Snow called _Nineteen-Eighty FOOD_. It's a FACE family fic, and it's comedy. No pairings. You can find it on Immortal x Snow's profile. If you're interested in FACE, please do give it a look-see! **

**Thanks for reading! Chapter 2 will be up shortly! Please review :D**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Chapter two :D It's shorter than the previous one but I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

True to his word, Antonio did heal quickly. He was already regaining consciousness by the time I called Francis back from wherever the hell he was about to go to. By the time the doctors had a look at him, the thin fog that had clouded his mind ever since he'd thrown Kirkland unconscious, was already starting to ebb. He was perfectly fine by the next day, although Francis, Gilbert and I made him lie down anyway. (I, for one, couldn't handle my eyes being likened to _spaceships_ ever again.)

The days passed in awkward jerks. But it was a pleasant, flirty sort of awkward, where my hands brushed against Antonio's as we walked down the hallway, and he smirked at me whenever he wanted to see me blush. Our kisses would always be swift and heated, and also sort of random. He never exactly asked me out on a date, never set the mood, and in his defence, I wasn't very keen on going out and seeing a freaking movie or whatever it is that dates are supposed to be. I was having more fun this way. There was always the element of surprise when he swooped in and kissed me as he was leaving a room, or if he held my hand when we were talking. I liked that a lot.

It seemed very rosy. Even Gilbert and Elizabeta seemed happy with each other. Gilbert had Eliza had even apologised for thinking badly of him; she'd not known him, hadn't even taken the time out to know him.

Antonio and I also spent a lot of time helping out Matthew. He, Kiku, Yao and Kabir had become some sort of super-team, putting in tireless hours of practice for their flash mob, despite the mounting workload in class. Antonio wanted to dance with them too (no surprise there), but somehow _I_ got roped in. Maybe because I was always hanging around Antonio or Matthew, and that everyone just accepted the fact that I was Antonio's de facto boyfriend and was to be included in everything. I don't know. The sore muscles and rank stench of my sweat was only muted when Matthew smiled and hugged me and thanked me for helping save Kuma the bear.

(You can't really be mad at Matthew. I mean, it's literally impossible.)

In between all of this, Ivan was hanging around Antonio too. They studied in the library together almost every night, until one afternoon while Matt, Antonio and I were sitting outside in the lawns, eating lunch, Ivan ran up to Antonio with tears in his eyes and pulled him into a hug. "I got the highest grades in the class!" he said happily. Then he swiftly wiped his eyes. "How embarrassing to cry."

"No, no, don't be embarrassed!" Antonio said with a grin.

Ivan hugged him again, this time so tightly that I heard Antonio give out a small 'oof!' "Thank you so, so much, Toni. I was going to lose my scholarship if it wasn't for you!"

I just stared. "Ivan?"

He let go of Antonio to look at me. "Yes, Lovino?"

"You remember that shooting star a couple of weeks ago?"

(Antonio, I noticed, stiffened.)

"Oh, yes. Funny, I wished on that shooting star for my grades to get better. Guess those wishes work, huh?" Ivan laughed at himself. "It's silly now that I think about it, because all I needed was a good tutor. Like Toni."

Antonio 'hmm'ed.

I don't think anyone else but me caught his sleight of hand. From the long sleeve of his red coat, he seemed to pull out a carnation and deposit it into Ivan's pocket, all without anyone even noticing.

But then, I was watching. Like Antonio himself had admitted not long ago, I was always watching.

Dr. Kirkland returned at the end of the fortnight, looking healthier than anyone had ever seen him. "Seems like he's done nothing but sleep for the last two weeks," I muttered as he marched up and down the classroom, talking animatedly.

"Maybe Antonio knocking him out was a good thing," Matthew replied. "He got some time off."

Antonio just chuckled to himself as he took notes. "Clumsiness pays off in strange ways, doesn't it?"

"Clumsiness," I repeated, softly enough for only my ears. Pressing the nib of my pen into my notebook, I added, "Clumsiness, yeah, sure."

The truth was, those red carnations were appearing all over the place. Almost every single person Antonio interacted with ended up saying something to him that would prompt him to do them this bigass favour and leave those flowers where they'd be found. Antonio never seemed to run out of energy, either. He'd stopped going to the Astrophysics classes now. Instead, he went to Art, Filmmaking, Journalism, Organic Chemistry and Law, befriending everyone he met and helping them out in some way.

People found him easy to talk to, something that didn't surprise me as much as it should have. It explained why I volunteered information to him so easily: my real name, my inferiority complex with Feli, my chorea as a child. I could never believe what I'd said once it slipped out of my mouth, but now that I realised other people did it too, it made me feel like I was supposed to. Like I was being compelled to by some force I couldn't understand. I should have been mad, but again, I found that I simply couldn't be. It was as though some part of me sympathised with Antonio - somehow, instinctively, I _knew_ he couldn't help it the way people opened up to him. I _knew_ it was a burden he had to bear, because something about him just made people loosen up, even if they didn't want to. It was violating their privacy without their consent, and I knew, deep down, I _understood,_ that Antonio felt guilty about it.

His allure even worked on the most secretive of us all. Francis.

We celebrated Francis's birthday by going out and getting drunk. Francis left with some girl and didn't come back to the dorm until the next morning. It was a Sunday. Gilbert was in the library, 'studying' with Elizabeta. I'd decided to walk off my hangover by strolling around the lawns, enjoying my solitude.

Eventually, as I made my way back to the dorm, I heard soft crying coming from behind the door. I opened it very, very slightly, and there was Francis sitting on the floor, weeping. Antonio was sitting next to him, rubbing circles on his back.

I should have backed off and left them to it, but I couldn't. I was curious, so sue me.

"And - and - I just feel so _filthy_ because it feels so _wrong._ Like I'm betraying her. And that's ridiculous, I know it's ridiculous. Jeanne is _dead_." He was crying harder. "She - over the summer, there was a fire. I - her mother called me up - I still remember, I was getting ready for our date, and I got that phone call, and - I couldn't - I mean - she was twenty! Who dies as twenty, Antonio?"

Something pulled at me and my hand clenched around the door knob. Oh, Francis. The way he was crying, I could feel tears prickle in _my_ eyes.

Francis blew into a tissue. "And I'm supposed to just get over it, you know? Because it's not like we were married or something. We'd only been seeing each other for a month. But that's such rubbish! How can I possibly - oh _God_ ," he moaned as he sank into his hands. "I want to stop hurting so much, Antonio. Everything reminds me of her. And I try to get over her by doing these stupid things, sleeping with these strangers, and it just hurts even more. Like I'm cheating on her. It makes no sense, does it?"

"It makes perfect sense." Antonio's soft voice was so ridden with sorrow. "There's no logical way to grieve, Francis. It's all emotion, and emotion makes no sense at all."

Francis let out a hollow laugh. "That's something I would say."

Antonio's smile was soft. "Well, now I'm saying it."

"I want her back," Francis whispered as his frame shook with his sobs. "I want her back so badly, Antonio."

"I know, I know, Francis. But I can't bring her back." He sounded so, so upset as he said that. "Nobody can."

"It hurts so much," he whispered. "It hurts all the time. I wish there was some way to make the pain go away."

Antonio sighed softly and pulled Francis into a hug. "Maybe," Antonio offered, his voice lulling, "You could rely on your friends a bit more. Share the load. Hmm?"

"Well, I just told you," I heard Francis mumble as he pressed his head deeper into Antonio's shoulder.

"Yeah," Antonio said gently, stroking Francis's hair. "You did."

I'd seen enough. Even I couldn't keep watching this anymore. It was just unfair on Francis. I simply stepped away from the door and slipped back outside to the lawns to kill another hour.

* * *

On Sunday morning, Antonio was panicking. In two hours, he, Matthew and the crew were going to the zoo to film their flash mob. Right now he was going in twenty different directions, between practicing his steps, double-checking Yao's camera quality, calling the zoo once more to remind them of the event, everything. I hadn't bothered asking how the zoo let Antonio just film a dance in protest of its treatment of their polar bear. I didn't bother. It was easy to just chalk it up to Antonio's alluring vibes.

I just sat on the floor of the stage, eating a tomato as breakfast and wondering what I was even doing here. Antonio made me do stupid things like dance in large coordinated groups. I wasn't even good at it! (Kabir had politely asked me to stand in the back.)

Once more, I knew it was the aura Antonio gave off. He drew people to him, like he was a king and we his doting subjects. My eyes travelled with him, watching as he darted all over the auditorium, barking into his cell phone or making pained whiny noises to assuage his nervousness.

Then Matthew came in, holding a styrofoam cup of coffee, and Antonio, without seeing where he was going, walked right into him.

Antonio let out a strangled yell as the coffee splattered down his coat.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!"

"No, no," Antonio said shakily, looking down at the foam and syrup and milk on his coat, "I should have watched where I was going. Sorry about your coffee."

They exchanged formalities (even some money - Antonio pressed some into Matthew's palm to get another cup all on him). Antonio looked even more stressed and I saw him stalk off to the bathrooms. I followed.

"You can wash your coat off, right?"

He turned sharply, startled, before his expression became more relaxed and he smiled. "Hey, Lovi."

I approached him, placing a hand on his cheek. "Calm the fuck down, Antonio. It's going to be fine."

He mumbled something and looked away. "No. My coat. It's ruined."

"It's just a coat. Wash it off and wear something else -"

"This is my lucky coat! I need it to help people!"

Antonio opened up a direction of conversation that teetered on the dangerous. If we were going to start acknowledging his strange abilities, well...that line of questioning could go anywhere. Even beyond the edge of sanity.

I swallowed. "A lucky coat?" Better to keep things safe, for now. I wasn't ready for an explanation that wouldn't make sense. "Here, give it to me."

Antonio looked at me with a little too much suspicion before he shrugged it off and handed it over.

The coat was...heavier than expected. "So what is this?" I asked in a joking tone, holding it under a running faucet. "The source of your magic powers or something?"

Antonio was silent for a whole minute. "Sorta."

I froze.

"Not a source, exactly," he continued. "More like...a uniform? My coat validates my existence."

"You're crazy," I muttered, although my heart was roaring in my ears. "And it's not good to be that dependent on a piece of clothing."

Antonio laughed and said nothing more.

"Here." I handed the coat back. "It's a little damp, but it's not full of frappuccino anymore."

"Thank you, Lovi!" Antonio cooed, kissing my cheek. "This is fine." As he threw it on his shoulders, he let out a sigh. "Ah, much better."

Offering his hand to me, he said, "Come on! Let's go save Kumajiro!"

I let his warm fingers take mine and felt my heart tug in a way that hearts really shouldn't. Antonio was confusing and magical and mysterious, but that just made me like him all the more.

You might think that's pathetic. I try to.

( _Try._ )

* * *

It went off perfectly. I mean, sure, I almost tripped on my own feet, and yeah, it turned out Yao hadn't pressed the fucking 'record' button until we were a minute and a half into our dance, but other than that, it was pretty okay. I was rather impassive about the whole thing until I actually saw Kumajiro. He was thin and dirty and sad.

People were staring at us and taking videos. I was embarrassed, but something about what we were doing was numbing me.

It was Antonio. I know it was. You've never seen him at work, you've never been _involved_ in his process. But it was like I was some great part of a powerful positive forcefield. I couldn't find the negativity in me to be reluctant or awkward. We were doing this crazy crap to make a viral video that would save Kuma. A poor innocent polar bear.

The objective filled me up until it was all I could think about. It was wholesome and satisfying. And when we finished, cheered, clapped and hugged each other, I felt like I'd contributed something to the planet.

Kiku and Yao edited the video and added some cool effects. They interspersed it with text, and it ended with Matthew saying, "SAVE KUMA!" Matthew uploaded it online, all of us shared it, our friends shared it, their friends shared it, and in twenty-four hours, our video was everywhere. People were tweeting about it (hashtagSaveKuma!), uploading statuses, writing blog posts, drawing up petitions. Matthew started getting phone calls from newspapers, for fuck's sake.

The best news came that morning, when Matthew switched on the TV and found out that the city council was getting involved.

He ran to Antonio, nearly crying.

"I never, ever thought this would be possible!" he screamed - actually screamed - as he threw himself onto Antonio. "It's all because of you! Kuma might be saved because of you!"

"I didn't do _anything_ ," Antonio insisted. "You took all the initiative. I just gave you an idea. Actually, the social media campaign was _Lovi's_ idea. I just...helped. Initially. But this is all on you!"

There was no sneaky shit this time. Antonio presented Matthew with a red carnation, flourishing it like he'd spent all night in the mirror, practicing. (I could have been jealous, but I wasn't. I was still feeling too elated from before). "Congrats, Mattie!"

I started to laugh as Matthew kept repeating, "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

* * *

"Well, fuck him! No, I don't give a shit, he had it co - no! Feli, you're going to work and pay for your tuition yourself! It's not like he can pay anyway, the bastard's accounts - _excuse me for not having any fucking sympathy for that tax-evading homophobe!_ "

Thank fuck there was nobody in the dorm right now. I had all the room to pace violently up and down the floor, snarling into my phone while imagining creative ways to break my grandfather's nose.

They froze his fucking assets. Not like anyone ought to be surprised.

"Grandpa is all lawyered-up now! AGAIN!" Feli wailed. "And he's not allowed to leave town, so he's just sitting in his study and brooding. He yells if you even ask him he he wants coffee."

"Don't give him any fucking coffee. He doesn't deserve coffee."

"Romano, I'm scared."

" _Please_ , Feli," I rolled my eyes so emphatically I almost gave myself a headache. "This happens every other time."

"But this time they've found some actual evidence of, like, messing with the account books and stuff. _And_ some of the people he threatened spoke to the police!"

"Whatever. We don't need him anyway."

I listened to Feli whine and talked him down from crying, and when Feli said bye and cut the line, I let out a loud, howling yell and threw my phone against the wall.

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid Grandpa!_ I hated him so much right now. Why was he always doing these things to us?

Ugh.

Whatever.

I had better things to do.

A twelve-thousand word essay was one of them.

With each word I wrote, I felt myself getting more and more distant from my grandfather. Each sentence was like a railway line away from home and all its drama. I even turned my phone off. Writing about Roman Architecture in the time of Emperor Nero was my escape.

I sat undisturbed for a while, refusing to let the tears spill. Until, of course, Antonio walked in from some study group I had no idea he was even part of. "Lovi?" he asked when he saw my face, coming right up to me and snatching my laptop away. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," I snapped, averting my gaze and wiping my eyes.

"Lovi, come on."

My tongue took control, words slipping out of me without me allowing them to. "My family. My grandfather. I'm just so _sick of it_ , Antonio!" Before I knew it, I'd pressed my head into his chest, not crying exactly, but getting there. Antonio ran a hand through my hair as I talked and talked without even wanting to. "I've never told you what the family business is, have I?"

"No."

"Construction. Sort of. Grandpa owns a lot of property. That's all on paper, though. He's a criminal. He's got a network of goons, he's corrupt. He bribes and threatens people. He's untouchable because he's got so many contacts in high places! And now he's being investigated - _again_ \- and his assets have been frozen."

"Oh," Antonio said quietly, his voice a little breathy.

"I hate him."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I do. I hate him." I pulled away from Antonio, sniffling and wiping my eyes. Antonio was looking at me, his brow furrowed in concern.

"You know…" Antonio started, looking to his feet and facing away from me, "I...could help you if you wanted."

"I - I know," I stammered back, heart roaring. "I don't need your help. I just need to finish my essay."

His eyes flashed towards mine, and in that one second, I knew it had become a mutual agreement. I knew his big secret, he knew I knew. We were simply not going to talk about it.

Hands trembling, I took my laptop, placing it on my lap and staring at the blinking cursor. Eventually, Antonio climbed up to his bunk and left me alone.

* * *

The ending came dramatically, although really, the signs were all there.

A few days after the viral video thing, Antonio dropped out of European History, a move that was met with shock by everyone who was not me. He had only been in there to help Matthew. I knew that by now. He had a million other classes, anyway, from Mechanical Engineering to Greek Philosophy.

Gilbert, meanwhile, starting whining about Roderich Edelstein. "I've always kind of felt like Liz was into him," he said morosely to Francis and I.

"But you're her boyfriend," Francis advised. "It's best not to be too jealous or possessive. You'll drive her away."

"I'm not being _possessive_ ," he muttered. "It's just - ugh, fucking Roderich. And he keeps hitting on her, too, in his own 'classy' way. He's just really pretentious."

For Roderich, 'hitting on' Elizabeta included inviting her to concerts - in a 'just friends' kind of way, of course - and subtly insulting Gilbert's taste in music. Gilbert reacted by buying Liz nice things and booking her whole schedule with dinners, movies, gigs and assorted dates. It was ridiculous.

(Or maybe I just didn't empathise? I didn't have to compete for Antonio's attention, despite his ever-mounting workload and those red carnations that he gave to everyone but me. He always found time for me, and somehow never seemed tired.)

So.

You know how guys do stupid shit when they're trying to get a girl to like them?

That's what happened.

It started, you see, with a birthday invitation.

Roderich sent Liz this elaborate invitation card (who sends invitation cards these days?) to his twenty-first birthday party. It was to be a 'an evening of well-mannered frivolity' (Roderich Edelstein makes Harry Potter references?). Along with the card was a bouquet of roses, and the invite did not extend to Gilbert.

"Of course I won't accept," Elizabeta had assured him, before promptly accepting.

Gilbert was furious. They had this huge fight, lots of drama and crying on both ends, blah, blah, blah, accusations of "YOU'RE ATTRACTED TO HIM!" and "YOU'RE BEHAVING LIKE A CHILD, GILBERT!" were flying around, things were thrown across the room, and I almost got punched in the face by Elizabeta (accidentally, she claimed).

Anyway, the next morning, Antonio and I were chilling in the lawns, listening to music and making out in the least conspicuous way possible, when Gilbert stormed up to us and started ranting.

"SHE BROKE UP WITH ME. FUCK. AND SHE'S GOING TO THAT PRETENTIOUS PRICK'S GALA OR WHATEVER, FUCKING HELL -"

"Gilbert -" Antonio tried to say.

"NO, SHUT UP, AND SHE TELLS ME THAT _I'M_ BEHAVING LIKE A POSSESSIVE ASSHOLE -"

"You kind of are," I interrupted.

"FUCK YOU, VARGAS."

(That's not something people say every day, by the way. My grandfather would have their bones broken.)

"SHE'S LIKED HIM RIGHT FROM THE START -"

"That's not true!" Antonio protested. "Elizabeta is too headstrong to date anyone she doesn't like."

Gilbert's eyes widened. "That's right," he said, dropping his voice, "What if she was dating me to get Roderich jealous?"

"She wouldn't date you for so many _months_ if she was doing it just to make him jealous." But Antonio's words were ignored as Gilbert's ranting resumed.

"ARRGH! I HATE HIM! I WISH HE HAS THE WORST BIRTHDAY EVER! LIKE A FLOCK OF PIGEONS OR SOMETHING SHITS ALL OVER THE PARTY! ASSHOLE DOESN'T EVEN LIKE BIRDS!"

"Gilbert."

Antonio had gone very pale.

"Gilbert," he said again, weaker this time, "Take that back. What you just said."

"NO! I WANT HIM TO BE MISERABLE BY THE END OF IT!"

Antonio let out a soft groan as he clutched his stomach and curled in on himself.

"Hey, are you all right?" I asked. But before I could reach out to touch him, Antonio shot up, staggered a little, and turned even paler.

"I think I'm going to be sick," he choked out before running off to the nearest trashcan.

Antonio was sick all day. Every time Francis got him to so much as drink a sip of water, he'd throw up. It was weird because he didn't even have a fever or anything. Gilbert was somewhat sympathetic but he had a stony silence on him for the rest of the evening. Antonio kept shooting him glances, looks full of concern and apprehension.

He was fine the next day. Physically, anyway. In the three days leading up to Roderich's birthday, Antonio was quiet and stressed and unhappy, not smiling even once.

"What the hell is going on?" I asked him once. "Is this about what happened with Gilbert?"

But trust me, if Antonio chose not to be honest with you, you'd never fucking guess. I thought I was good at reading him, but the sudden laugh and his effortless smile made me raise my eyebrows. "What are you talking about?" he asked before wearing his earphones and essentially ending the conversation.

Roderich's birthday party was on Saturday night, and on Friday morning, I got a phone call from Feli.

"Can you come over for the weekend?" he asked me.

"Uh...no. I've got study group on Sunday."

"Okay. Can you come over tonight?"

"Feli, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I got mad at Grandpa and now he's not talking to me and it's tense here."

"And somehow me coming home would ease that tension? Are you _sure_?" I drawled. "What did you even fight about this time? I thought he let you go to art school."

"Yes! It's not about that! I told him I wanted to work and pay on my own."

"Ah."

"He flipped out. Again." Feli sounded tired by this point, exasperated. "He's such a grumpy old man."

I started to laugh. "I can't believe you just said that."

Feli's giggling caught up with mine, as he said, "Well, it's true. He used to be nicer when we were kids."

"We were easier to manipulate."

"Possibly, ve~"

"So, you really want me to come over? I'll have to get back before Sunday, though."

"That's okay. I'll make you lots of pasta and pizza and tiramisu!" His voice was getting higher and higher as he spoke. I could imagine him jumping around the room, already working out the recipes in his head.

"Knock yourself out. I'll take the next train home."

* * *

"You're leaving?" Antonio asked so incredulously that it was almost as though I'd told him I was sheltering a unicorn in the basement or something. (I could imagine that conversation: "But Lovi, unicorns like sunlight! You're not supposed to keep them in basements! My good friend RainbowSparkleFace the Unicorn told me so!")

"For _one night._ I'll be back on Saturday."

"Saturday _night_ ," Antonio muttered. First I thought he was just irritated, but then his face fell. "I can't believe you're leaving me right now."

"The fuck?" I put my hands on my hips in an attempt to look threatening. Antonio had the look of a puppy who had been denied a treat, all forlorn and devastated. I sighed. "Do you want to come with me?"

"I can't," he muttered darkly before that expression slipped off his features as well, replaced with something akin to longing. He pulled me into a kiss that he kept deepening, and even as we broke apart, his hands dragged me into a hug. "I love you, Lovi," he said sadly. "I'll miss you."

"I'm not _dying._ Besides, you have my phone number!"

Antonio just buried his head in my shoulder and stood like that, wordless, and let me card his hair.

"Do you love me?" he asked sadly.

I wanted to swallow my tongue and melt into the floor.

"I don't know."

"That's okay," I thought I heard him whisper.

* * *

Although I was happy to see my brother again - especially without the threat of him running away in the dead of night - my mind was flitting between family drama and Antonio drama. The look of absolute _grief_ Antonio had given me as he waved me off at the station made my stomach roil. Feli caught onto my mood, too, because he made sure we weren't in the house for very long.

"I'm still so shocked Grandpa let me study art," Feliciano told me as we were getting some gelato at the nearby ice cream parlour. "He just called me up when I was asleep in your dorm and told me he saw my potential."

"Yeah, that's great, but how?"

"I have no idea! He said it was manipulative of me to leave my sketchbook open on his nightstand, but it helped him see my talent. And also that he was so proud of me for being manipulative."

I just stared.

"And," Feli continued, "When I checked my bag, I couldn't find my sketchbook. I was _so sure_ I'd taken it with me. Antonio even looked at it, didn't he?" My brother scrunched up his nose. "Did he? I don't remember."

"Can we not talk about Antonio?" I rested my cheek on my hand. "He's in such a weird mood lately."

"How so?"

"I just told you I don't want to talk about him."

"You brought him up, Romano."

I narrowed my eyes. " _Lovino._ "

Feliciano placed me under this odd, wise look that seemed so fitting and yet so unexpected on his face. "You could change your name and leave the country, Romano, but you'll always be related to Grandpa."

"I wish I wasn't," I said with a sigh, but Antonio wasn't here to make it come true.

"You love Grandpa. In your own way."

"I wish I didn't," I went on.

Feliciano reached forward and flicked my forehead with his fingers. "You're above making silly wishes, Romano. That's what I've always admired about you."

I felt my cheeks go bright red and I dropped my gaze from Feli's eyes. Instead, I watched his gelato melt down the waffle cone and stain his fingers. "Shut up and eat your ice cream," I told him.

"It's _gelato_ ," he corrected, pedantic, before proceeding to devour it.

* * *

Saturday Evening, In The Train on the Way Back to College

* * *

 **Francis: Lovino do u kno where toni is**

 **Francis: lovino its urgent**

 **Francis: Gilbert thinks hes run away**

 _Me: WHAT?_

 _Me: I GO HOME FOR ONE FUCKING NIGHT AND THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS?_

 **Francis: Vargas, this is Gilbert. I took Francis's phone.**

 **Francis: It's a long story but basically Antonio gate-crashed Roderich's birthday party with a cage full of pigeons he got from I DON'T KNOW WHERE.**

 **Francis: And those birds crapped all over the place.**

 **Francis: It was funny until Antonio nearly passed out.**

 _Me: What the fuck_

 _Me: I don't even know what to react to first_

 **Francis: Yeah, after it was all over, Toni nearly passed out. Francis - I'd sent him there to spy on Liz - had to steady him.**

 _Me: You creep._

 **Francis: And the second Toni got his footing he ran to the dorm. Dunno where he is now but all his stuff is gone. Except for his coat. His red coat is on his bed.**

 _Me: He left his coat behind._

 **Francis: merde lovino this is francis again**

 **Francis: why do you care about the coat right now. we have more important things to do**

 **Francis: did he call you**

 _Me: No. I'll call him._

 **Francis: Lovino i'm worried. he's really sick.**

 _Me: sick?_

 **Francis: when he nearly passed out i checked his forehead. he had a fever. which is weird because he was fine until the pigeon incident**

 _Me: Thanks. Calling him now._

* * *

" _So what is this? The source of your magic powers or something?"_

" _Sorta. Not source, exactly. It's more like a uniform. The coat validates my existence."_

Validates his fucking existence.

Antonio would not have left that coat behind accidentally.

Something was seriously wrong.

* * *

His phone kept going to voicemail, and I kept looking at the night sky. It was so cold. I was cold. My palms were shaking and my eyes were burning and my heavy, erratic breathing was making people on the train look at me.

As soon as it reached the station, I sprung out and pushed past the crowd, throat drowning in the urge to scream. _Antonio, Antonio, Antonio_ , where the fuck was he? _Why_ had he run away? What was going on?

My phone's ringtone shot out at me like a viper. I felt like I'd been bitten, venom seeping into my bloodstream as I answered it without looking at the caller's name. "Y-yes?" I managed to whisper.

"Romano, hey, it's me! You left a pair of socks here, what do you want me to do with them?"

"Feli?" I let out an exhale as my heart seemed to miss a beat. Oxygen fell from my lungs as I reached out to the nearest wall to steady myself.

"...Romano?" Feliciano's tone had changed. "Romano, what's wrong?"

"Antonio," I blurted, "Antonio. He ran away. Something's happened, I don't - I don't know what to do!"

There was silence on the other end. Then, "I'm so sorry."

"Don't say that!" I cried, "You make it sound like he's dying!"

'Like he's dying'.

...The idea...had crossed my mind…

More than once.

Ever since I received Francis's text.

Because - Because Antonio was special. He wasn't like the rest of us. He was - I don't know, fuck, magical? - And something about Gilbert's last wish had been _off_ to Antonio.

"Sorry. Listen, Romano, calm down. Think. Is there a place he'd go to? Anything he mentioned once?"

"Nothing," I replied bitterly, wiping a stray tear from my eye. Antonio never mentioned a thing about himself if he could help it. I knew his big secret, but he protected it viciously. Antonio never said anything about his background or his interests, or anything. Whenever the conversation lingered on him too long, he'd swiftly change it to something else. Because he was good with his words. Because people were drawn to him, and he could subtley manipulate them. He'd get them to open up, and they'd inevitably tell him what they wished for.

He'd make those wishes come true.

Just like a shooting star.

Wait.

"Fuck," I snapped, loudly enough that people passing by gave me dirty looks. "Feli, I think I know where he is."

"Oh! That's so great!"

"I have to go." I cut the phone before Feliciano could say another word, and ran out of the station so fast I almost threw an old lady to the ground.

That night everyone saw the shooting star. I'd been drunk, so, so drunk, I'd woken up barely remembering anything. But I'd...seen...no, heard... _something_ fall to the ground. Something large.

Into that thicket.

It was mad, wild guess. But it was the only thing I could think of.

I couldn't see any taxis, but there were bicycles on rent outside the station, and I didn't have the time to stand in line at the counter to pay for one. Looking left, looking right, hands in my pockets, a bobby pin I always kept with me.

"Thank you, Grandpa," I whispered fervently as I knelt down and undid the bicycle lock. He'd taught me how to do this when I was ten, told me to always keep a bobby pin handy. I couldn't believe this had worked.

"HEY! YOU! STOP!" someone shouted at me as I cycled away, as ferociously as I could.

My legs burned as I cycled like a creature possessed.

The street was as creepy as before, with those bars and the ill-paced McDonalds and the dead silence. Even the music from these establishments seemed to disappear into the night sky.

The copse loomed in the distance, like the claws of a giant monster. Breathlessly, I shouted, "Antonio!"

I threw my cycle to the side of the road when I approached, jumping off and running to the trees. There was no light here and the night sky made everything seem lonelier. I had my phone out with the flashlight on, and my bones froze as Antonio's prone form caught my eye.

He was barely conscious as he sat propped against a tree drunk, his breathing faint and eyes dull.

"Antonio! Fuck!"

His lashes fluttered as he looked at me. "Oh, hey, Lovi," he murmured as though this was a perfectly normal situation. "Never thought anyone would find me here."

His skin was dangerously hot and I pulled my hand back in the space of a second. "You need to be in hospital." My fingers fumbled as I tried to text Francis, call someone - and Antonio's weak hand reached out to hold mine.

"You of all people know that's not going to work."

Why was he smiling like that? Like this was some sort of joke.

My throat went dry. "But -"

"I'm dying," he explained gently. "Sort of, anyway. My body's dying. _I_ can't die, I'm a spirit. I'll always _exist._ I'll always _be._ I always was."

"W-what?" I stammered. My brain and all its logical thought had collapsed, and all I could do was listen to Antonio speak. It was taking him so much effort, but I didn't dare stop him. He had to say his piece, and I had to hear it.

"You know that," Antonio prodded, poking my cheek with his finger. "You're always watching, aren't you?"

"The carnations," I blurted.

"Mm," Antonio said. "Like a receipt. When people make a wish, I make it come true, and then I give them a flower to finish the transaction. A receipt."

"You're a shooting star."

Antonio chuckled. "I'm a spirit. Of a shooting star. And that night, so many people wished on me. I was just _pulled_ here." He paused and added, "At this very spot. That's where I fell. Here's where I'll go back. You knew that, of course. You've got this way about you."

"You can't die," I whispered, tears leaking out of my eyes. "I won't let you." My breath shuddering, I closed my eyes. "I wish you live. I wish you live. I wish you -"

"Don't." Antonio's voice was sharp, much stronger than his weak body should have allowed. "I can't fulfill any more wishes. I'm spent. And you're better than inane wishing, anyway."

Funny. That was the second time in two days I'd heard that.

"I'm compelled to make all wishes come true," Antonio went on with tired sigh. "Even ones that hurt other people in some way. Gilbert wanted Roderich to have a bad birthday. By terrorising him and his guests with pigeons. The problem is, if I fulfill a wish that hurts another person, _I_ get hurt too."

"Then you shouldn't have!" I shouted, panicked.

"I have to. It's what I am." Antonio's green eyes regarded me kindly. "Sit with me? Don't kneel over me like that."

Our shoulders touched, and he was burning through his clothes. "I've fulfilled over a hundred and twenty wishes since I've come here," Antonio started simply. "But you never asked for _anything._ Even though you _knew_ I could make them all come true."

"I don't need wishes," I mumbled, wiping my eyes even as new tears fell.

"I know, I think that's brilliant." He inhaled, and with some difficulty, said, "Most people have the capacity to make their wishes come true all on their own. Like Matthew. He only needed some support and an idea to get him into it. Gilbert just needed to be more bold about his kinder side. Ivan only needed a tutor and to put in the hours. Feliciano just needed your grandfather to see his talent. Francis...he just needed to feel like he could open up to someone. And Dr. Kirkland just needed to use his piled up sick-leave." Antonio laughed softly to himself. "Nobody asked for something they couldn't achieve themselves. I can't bring the dead back, or manipulate emotion, or somehow magically make you not be related to an annoying family member." He gave me a knowing look.

"I can only help people make their wishes come true themselves," he went on. "But you never needed help. You always knew that you were capable of giving yourself anything you wanted. I've always liked that about you. That's why I fell in love with you."

"Don't you have a wish?" I whispered. "What do _you_ want?"

Antonio's laugh was small and sad. "Really, Lovino? I'd like to nap for a while now…I'm so tired..."

* * *

Antonio's body disappeared completely, like an optical illusion, and I howled and howled and howled. I just curled up under that tree and cried because there was nothing left of him, nothing but flimsy memories, and I was all alone.

...Then there was a soft breeze, and it felt like someone was caressing my cheek. From the treetops, a red carnation fell onto my lap.

The one thing Antonio heard me wish for was the one that came true. Because he was a spirit, and spirits, apparently, did not _die._

* * *

When I managed to drag myself back to college, it was dawn. My body hurt, I was crying, and I'd sobbed so hard at one point I'd nearly thrown up.

And things in college were...calmer...than I'd expected.

Francis and Gilbert were sound asleep - they shouldn't have been - and there was a red coat on my bunk. Just for me. I crawled into bed, hugging the only thing Antonio left behind, and wept some more.

When I woke up, Francis took one look at my face and said, "You need to rest. You look ill."

"Aren't you going to ask about Antonio?" I murmured, my head hurting too hard to protest.

"Who?" Gilbert asked, throwing me a look.

I blinked, raising my head. "Antonio?"

"No idea who he is," Francis said. "Is he a celebrity?"

The realisation that dawned on me was cold and horrible. "No," I replied, staring at them in abject horror. "You don't know him at all."

Nobody remembered him. Not Kirkland, not Elizabeta and Roderich, not Ivan or Matthew, not even Feli. But the effects he left were everywhere. Francis started opening up to us about Jeanne. Gilbert had about a hundred pictures of himself and Elizabeta on Facebook, and he would stare jealously as she now kissed only Roderich's lips. Kuma the bear was taken out of the zoo and sent to another - much, much nicer - facility. Ivan got straight As for the rest of the year. Feliciano started applying to art schools.

And my heart hurt all the time.

For the first few weeks, I thought I was going crazy. It felt like I'd dreamed up Antonio in some sort of schizophrenic episode. But there was that red coat. Every time I wore it, I felt powerful and warm, safe and most importantly, _loved._ I felt like he was there with me, holding me. It couldn't just be my mind having a psychotic break, right? It simply felt too real.

I spent the rest of the year like a ghost, full of grief and loneliness, feeling like there was something inside me that was inexplicably missing.

And the night after my finals, when everyone else was celebrating, I hid out inside my empty dorm, curled into the jacket, crying. "I wish I didn't feel so lonely," I said, hoping - daring to hope - for some sort of -

Someone knocked on the door and I jumped up.

Fuck. Fuck. Who was that? Could it _be_ \- ?

There was a box of chocolate at the door and a red carnation sitting on top of it.

Heart hammering, fingers cold, I lifted them up, turning the flower's stem in my hands. "Hello?" I asked, peering out into the hallway.

There was nobody.

"Wow," I whispered, stepping inside and closing the door. I placed the chocolates on the nearest flat surface and went to put the carnation in some water.

* * *

That's it. I'm done. Do you believe me?

Maybe you do. Maybe you don't. I don't actually care.

Because there's a knock on the door right now, and I've been expecting chocolates and flowers.

* * *

 **A/N: DON'T KILL ME ANTONIO IS NOT DEAD. He's just a spirit so he exists all around like some formless deity C:**

 **Well. So. Um. This is actually the most condensed version. I could - and would have, ideally - made this a minimum of 11 chapters, because this is a fantasy and has a lot of details and an exacting plot. But I neither had the time nor the inclination to get involved in such a large project right now.**

 **I think I'm done with fanfiction for a while. (I go through these phases). Lately, I've been focusing on my own writing and I've started a new novel. That and college work is going to take up a lot of my time, since this is my last year.**

 **Thank you so much for reading! Please review :D**


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